Oh, how he strained and panted! How the veins stood out on his
forehead! Still the great mass of timber seemed immovable. Again and
again he tried, and at length felt a slight yield. A more desperate
effort than before, and he could take a step; then another, and
another, until he had walked half the length of the pole. The head of
the raft was swinging off, at first so slowly that the motion was
almost imperceptible, then faster, until finally it felt the full force
of the current. Now for one more effort! If he could only work her
out from the bank and into the friendly shelter of the fog without
discovery, he would feel safe even from pistol-shots. For two minutes
Winn labored as never before in all his life. But the minutes seemed
hours, and he felt that he might as well attempt to push away the bank
itself as the mass of timber on which he stood. Suddenly he heard that
which he expected and dreaded, a shout, so loud that it seemed to be
uttered on the raft. The set-polo fell from his nerveless grasp as he
looked up, fully expecting to gaze into the black muzzle of a pistol.
At first he saw--nothing. He must be turned around. No; the view of
the opposite direction was equally blank. Then, for an instant, he
caught a glimpse of shadowy tree-tops just dissolving into formless
mist.
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