What he saw by the aid of the lightning was a sight that must always give him a queer chill, because of what followed so closely in its train. A mighty wave was pouring down upon him, its crest foamy and leaping as if in glee. It was eight or ten feet high at most, but to the excited imagination of the boy it seemed doubly that. The mere turning of his head as he did caused him to lose a fraction of his steadiness. At the same instant the pony made such a frantic leap forward that Frank lost his hold on the bridle. The next thing he knew something hit him squarely in the chest as with a sledge hammer, knocking him backward. It must have been one of the pony's recklessly flung hind hoofs, in the way of which Frank had tumbled. Before the starred boy could more than struggle to his knees in the effort to escape his fate he was picked up by that roaring flood and borne swiftly along. Fortunately for his own good, Frank managed to retain his wits, awkward and perilous as his situation now was. He threw out both arms and tried to clutch hold of such rocks as he came in contact with, usually the projecting knobs that were connected with the near wall, and perhaps six or more feet from the bed of the canyon. Several times he managed to get some sort of a grip on such a welcome anchor, only to find he was utterly unable to maintain his hold. On each occasion the fierce current snatched him loose again, after almost dislocating his shoulder or his elbow. One thing these several detentions did accomplish, and that was to retard his downward rush a little each separate time. So he was gradually falling back a dozen feet or more from the apex of that leading billow. Thus he presently found the water somewhat less agitated, though still mighty in its pull. Buffeted and tossed like a chip, Frank Allen was fast losing the best of his strength, although his grit still held out. The never-say-die spirit such as he had exhibited on many a hard fought football field or a struggle for supremacy on the diamond, was fated to stand back of him again in this tussle with the on-rushing torrent. When for the fourth time he managed to fasten his fingers, like the talons of that vulture Zander had shot on a projecting point of rock, he summoned every fibre of his whole being to conquer the drag of the current. Inch by inch he felt he was succeeding. Past him the torrent still rushed, but he had reason to believe it did not have him wholly in its power as before. So in another minute Frank was able to drag himself on to a friendly rock. He was so nearly spent by that time that it was with extreme difficulty he managed to keep his seat. Several times he almost toppled off his perch, which would have undoubtedly been his end, since he was now very weak. By slow degrees his strength and will power came back, and a sense of deep gratitude filled his heart because of the Hand that seemed to have thus plucked him directly out of deadly danger.