man's face was white, but there was no fear in his eyes.

"I cannot run the logs," he said at once; "I never did; I am too old, and
I slip. It's no use. It is my granddaughter at that window. Tell her that
I'll think of her to the last. . . . Good-bye!"

Brydon was eyeing the logs. The old man's voice was husky; he could not
cry out, but he waved his hand to the girl.

"Oh, save him!" came from her faintly.

Brydon's eyes were now on the covered bridge. Their raft was in the
channel, coming straight between two piers. He measured his chances. He
knew if he slipped, doing what he intended, that both might be drowned,
and certainly Mr. Rupert; for the logs were close, and to drop among them
was a bad business. If they once closed over there was an end of
everything.

"Keep quite still," he said, "and when I throw you catch."

He took the slight figure in his arms, sprang out upon the slippery logs,
and ran. A cheer went up from the men on the shore, and the people who
were gathering on the bridges, too late to be of service. Besides, the
bridge was closed, and there was only a small opening at the piers. For
one of these piers Brydon was making. He ran hard. Once he slipped and
nearly fell, but recovered. Then a floating tree suddenly lunged up and
struck him, so that he dropped upon a knee; but again he was up, and
strained for the pier. He was within a few feet of it as they came to the
bridge. The people gave a cry of fear, for they saw that there was no
chance of both making it; because, too, at the critical moment a space of