A grand black bull tossed back his horns, and looked at me beseechingly: he had frightened me often in quiet days, but now I was truly grieved for him.

And then on a wattle of brush-wood I saw the form of a man--the Sawyer.
His white hair draggled in the wild brown flood, and the hollow of his arms was heaped with froth, and his knotted legs hung helpless.
Senseless he lay on his back, and sometimes the wash of the waves went over him.

His face was livid, but his brave eyes open, and a heavy weight hung round his neck.

I had no time to think, and deserve no praise, for I knew not what I did.

But just as an eddy swept him near me, I made a desperate leap at him, and clutched at something that tore my hands, and then I went under the water.