Neither of us can help it.

We were made that way by the river.

To hell with the whole impossible mess of things!" With a gesture of violent rage, he turned toward the river, and, taking a step forward, lifted the manuscript high above his head.
Judy screamed, "Mr.Burns, don't!" He paused an instant, and, turning his head, looked at her with another laugh.
"'Fore God, you dassn't do that!" she implored.
And then, as the man turned his face from her, and his arms went back above his head for the swing that would send the manuscript far out into the tumbling waters of the rapids, she leaped toward him, and, catching his arm, hampered his movement so that the book fell a few feet from the shore, where the water, checked a little in its onward rush to the cliff by the irregular bank, boiled and eddied among the rocky ledges and huge boulders that retarded its force.

Another leap carried the mountain girl to the edge of the bank, where she crouched like a runner ready for the report of the starter's pistol, her black, beady eyes searching the stream for the volume of manuscript, which had disappeared from sight, drawn down by the troubled swirling currents.
The man, watching her, laughed in derision; but, while his mocking laughter was still on his lips, the boiling currents brought the book, again, to the surface, and Brian saw the girl leave the bank as if thrown by a powerful spring.

Straight and true she dived for the book, and even as she disappeared beneath the surface her hands clutched the manuscript.
For a second, Brian Kent held his place as if paralyzed with horror.
Then, as Judy's head appeared farther down the stream, he ran with all his strength along the bank to gain a point a little ahead of the swimming girl before he should leap to her rescue.
But Judy, trained from her birth on that mountain river, knew better than Brian what to do.