Hand over hand he drew in the slack, felt resistance, then a
jar that toppled him from his foothold. The noose had indeed caught
around the neck of the stallion, but the success threatened to be his
ruin. Toppled head over heels in the rush of the Little Smoky, still
his left hand gripped the rope and as he came gasping to the surface
his feet struck and lodged strongly against the surface of a great
boulder. His one stroke of luck!
He had no time to give thanks. The next moment the full weight of the
torrent on Alcatraz whipped the lariat quivering out of the water. The
horse was struggling in the very center of the strongest current and
the tug on the arms of Perris made his shoulder sockets ache. He
endured that pain, praying that his hands would not slip on the wet
rope. Then, little by little, he increased his pull until all the
strength of leg muscles, back, and arms was brought to bear. It seemed
that there was no result; Alcatraz did not change his position; but
inch by inch the rope crept in to him; he at length could shift holds,
whipping his right hand in advance of the left and tugging again.
There was more rapid progress, now, but as the first frenzy of nervous
energy was dissipated, a tremor of exhaustion passed through his limbs
and the beat of his heart redoubled until he was well-nigh stifled.
Pages:
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293