desperate effort he flung his boat-hook toward him and succeeded
this time in laying hold of the leather girdle about his waist.
One hundred feet below yawned the foaming, weltering abyss, from
which the white smoke ascended. If Marcus lost his grip, if the
branch snapped no human power could save them; they were all dead
men.

By this time the people on the shore had discovered that three
lives were hanging on the brink of eternity. Twenty men had
waded waist-deep into the current and had flung a stout rope to
the noble little fellow who was risking his own life for his
friend.

"Keep your hold, my brave lad!" they cried; "hold on another
minute!"

"Grab the rope!" screamed others.

Marcus clinched his teeth, and his numb arms trembled, mist
gathered in his eyes--his heart stood still. But with a clutch
that seemed superhuman he held on. He had but one thought--
Viggo, his chief! Viggo, his idol! Viggo, his general! He must
save him or die with him. One end of the rope was hanging on the
branch and was within easy reach; but he did not venture to seize
it, lest the wrench caused by his motion might detach his hold on
Viggo's raft.

Viggo, who just now was pulling Halvor out of the water, saw in
an instant that he had by adding his weight to the raft,
increased the chance of both being carried to their death. With