"I can't," replied George. There was a second's pause--but it seemed like the suspense of an hour. Then the lad had a lucky inspiration. He leaned down and drew from a side pocket of his discarded coat a roll of strong cord which had been used when he climbed the telegraph poles. Pulling a knife from a pocket in his trousers he cut a piece of the cord about two yards in length, tied one end around his waist and attached the other end to Waggie's collar. The next instant he had plunged into the icy water, dragging the dog in after him. Watson followed, and struck out into the torrent with the vigor of an athlete. George found at once that his work meant something more than keeping himself afloat. The current was rapid, and it required all his power to keep from being carried down the river like a helpless log. Waggie was sputtering and pawing the water in his master's wake. "Keep going," shouted Watson. "This current's no joke!" Even he was having no child's play. Just then George had his mouth full of water; he could only go on battling manfully. But he began to feel a great weakness. Was he about to faint again? He dared not think of it. There was a loosening of the cord around his waist. He looked to his left and there was Waggie floating down the stream like a tiny piece of wood. His head had slipped from his collar. Watson tried to grab the dog as he floated by, but it was too late. He might as well have tried to change the tide. "Go on, George, go on!" he urged, breathlessly. The boy struggled onward, but he had already overtaxed his strength. He became dizzy; his arms and legs refused to work. "What's the matter?" sputtered his companion, who was now alongside of him. "Go on; don't mind me," said George, in a choking voice. "Put your hand on my belt," sternly commanded Watson. The young swimmer obeyed, scarcely knowing what he did. Watson kept on like a giant fish, sometimes in danger of being swept away, and sometimes drawing a few feet nearer to the opposite bank. * * * * * The next thing that George knew was when he found himself lying on the river's edge. Watson was peering at him anxiously. "That's right; open your eyes," he said. "We had a narrow escape, but we're over the river at last. I just got you over in time, for when we neared shore you let go of me, and I had to pull you in by the hair of your head." "How can I ever thank you," said George, feebly but gratefully. "By not trying," answered Watson. "Come, there's not a second to lose. Don't you hear our enemies?" There was no doubt as to the answer to that question. Across the river sounded the baying and the harsh human voices. Almost before George realized what had happened Watson had pulled him a dozen yards away to a spot behind a large boulder. "Keep on your back!" he ordered. "The men are on the other bank."