The skill of the young trapper was as great in the handling of himself while in the water as it was in hunting or trailing through the woods, and now his confidence came back to him, when he felt certain that he could accomplish something by that same skill and strength. Still retaining his hold upon the arm of the boy, he managed to bring his head above the surface once more, while with the other arm he impelled both through the water, toward the bank, from which he had made his leap. The current was still so swift that he could hardly hope to effect a landing until they should reach a point further down, but it was prudent to put himself in a position where he could avail himself of the first turn in his favor. Looking again at the countenance by his shoulder, he saw that the eyes were closed, and there was blood flowing over his face. The sight convinced Little Rifle that he must speedily be gotten out of the water, if he expected to preserve his life at all, and he now bent all his efforts toward reaching the shore with him. A few vigorous strokes brought him within a dozen feet of land, but the bank was so rocky and precipitous that it was idle to attempt to come out, and he drifted, unresisting, still further. By this time they were scarcely less than a quarter of a mile below the falls, so swiftly had they sped downward, and being so close to shore, Little Rifle determined to make a desperate attempt to land at the first point that offered the least hope. Suddenly he saw an opening in the rocks, a place where they were so depressed that he could reach the upper edge with his hands, if he could bring himself sufficiently near. A furious plunge forward, and he succeeded. Throwing up his free arm, he grasped the rim, but the swiftness of the current, and the support of the helpless lad, instantly tore his grasp loose, and both sped onward again. “I’ll make it next time,” was his thought, as his courage rose with the difficulty. “The stream is broadening, and must run a great deal slower. I will soon find a footing, and when I can secure that, I will bring us both out all right. He is alive,” he mentally added, as he looked at him again, “for he has struggled more than once, but he is badly hurt, and he may die, after all.” Just then, Little Rifle’s moccasins struck the bottom, and, as they were drawn up, in his efforts at swimming, this showed that the water was quite shallow. Instantly dropping his feet, he stood with it rising scarcely above his waist; but even then it was the utmost he could do to retain his footing, so powerful was the sweep of the current. He succeeded by a strong effort, and never losing his hold upon his charge, dragged him to shore and stretched him out at full length upon his back, where the sun could shine full upon his face.