It was the slender thread of buckskin and his own weight that were holding her.

If the buckskin should break-- He thanked God that it was the tough babiche that had been around his pack.

An inch at a time he began to draw himself up on the rock.

The undertow behind the rock had flung a mass of Marette's long hair toward him, so that it was a foot or two nearer to him than her clinging hands.

He worked himself toward that, for he saw that he could reach it more quickly than he could reach her.