I can hear that crowd on the porch shouting just as plain as on that very day it happened.

And every time it rains and it's dark and windy, it reminds me of it too.

The next thing I knew we were right close beside two fellows and Westy was holding them and shouting, "_Let go, I've got him!_" The fellow who wouldn't let go was Skinny.
I can't tell you about how he looked--honest, I just can't tell you.
But there was blood on his face just the same as I saw in the dream--as sure as I'm sitting here, there was.

He had hold of the camping fellow's mackinaw jacket with his teeth and the fellow's mouth was stretched wide open and Skinny's hand was clutching his teeth and chin and holding his head above water that way.

It wasn't like any rule for holding a drowning fellow, anyway, no rule _I_ ever heard of.