He was blind with running; he was numbed by the long horror of that effort, no doubt, but there was enough strength left in him to understand the master's mind.

He tossed his head high, he flaunted out his tail, and sped with a ghost of his old sweeping gallop toward the bank.
"Bart!" shouted the master, and waved his arm.
And the wolf saw too.

He seemed to cringe for a moment, and then, like some old leader of a pack who knows he is about to die and defies his death, he darted for the river and flung himself through the air.
An instant later Satan reared on the bank and shot into the air.

Below him the teeth of the rocks seemed to lift up in hunger, and the white foam jumped to take him.

The crest of the arc of his jump was passed; he shot lower and grazing the last of the stones he plunged out of sight in the swift water beyond.