The pallid face of the man clinging to the log showed that he was nearly exhausted, and that he had been rescued in the nick of time.

When Alfred reached shoal water he slipped his arm around the man, who was unable to stand, and carried him ashore.
The rescued man wore a buckskin hunting shirt and leggins and moccasins of the same material, all very much the worse for wear.
The leggins were torn into tatters and the moccasins worn through.
His face was pinched with suffering and one arm was bleeding from a gunshot wound near the shoulder.
"Can you not speak?
Who are you ?" asked Clarke, supporting the limp figure.
The man made several efforts to answer, and finally said something that to Alfred sounded like "Zane," then he fell to the ground unconscious.
All this time the dog had acted in a most peculiar manner, and if Alfred had not been so intent on the man he would have noticed the animal's odd maneuvers.

He ran to and fro on the sandy beach; he scratched up the sand and pebbles, sending them flying in the air; he made short, furious dashes; he jumped, whirled, and, at last, crawled close to the motionless figure and licked its hand.
Clarke realized that he would not be able to carry the inanimate figure, so he hurriedly put on his clothes and set out on a run for Colonel Zane's house.

The first person whom he saw was the old negro slave, who was brushing one of the Colonel's horses.
Sam was deliberate and took his time about everything.

He slowly looked up and surveyed Clarke with his rolling eyes.