In the hour of need, the
Great Enemy had become his last hope.
But his progress towards the sloping bank was small. For every inch
he fought to the bank the current carried him a foot down stream, yet
those inches gained in the lateral direction were every one priceless.
Finally Perris swung the lariat and shot it through the air. Fair and
true the circle struck above the head of the stallion and the hunter
shouted with hysterical triumph; a moment later he groaned as the
current whirled the rope over the head of Alcatraz and down stream.
Yet he fought the hopeless fight. Staggering in the currents, beaten
from his footing time and again, Perris stumbled down stream gathering
his rope for a new cast as he went. Neither had the chestnut abandoned
the struggle. His last efforts had swerved him about and now he headed
up stream with the water foaming about his red, distended nostrils;
but still through the whipping spray his great eyes were fixed on
Perris. As for the man, there was a prayer in the voice with which he
shouted: "Alcatraz!" and hurled the rope again.
Heavy with the water it had soaked up the noose splashed in a rough
circle around the head of the swimmer and then cut down into the
water.
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