And it would have been needed if it had not been for the man
whose hat she had seen a few moments before. He made his passage
through the bush much quicker than could Nan, and when the latter
reached an opening where she could see the river, the stranger
was just leaping into the deep pool under the high bank.
It was plain to be seen what had happened. A sycamore overhung
the river and somebody had climbed out upon a small branch to
reach a few half-ripened grapes growing on a vine that ran up the
tree.
The branch had split, drooping downward, and the adventurous
grape-gatherer had been cast into the water.
"Oh, Margaret!" screamed Nan, confident that it was the reckless
child that was in peril.
She hurried to the brink of the low bluff, from which the rescuer
had plunged. He had already seized the child (there was an eddy
here under the bank) and was striking out for the shore. Nan saw
his wet face, with the bedraggled hair clinging about it.
It was the awfully scarred face of Injun Pete; but to the excited
Nan, at that moment, it seemed one of the most beautiful faces
she had ever seen!
The Indian reached the bank, clung to a tough root, and lifted up
the gasping Margaret for Nan to reach.
Pages:
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235