True, the rope was coming in hand over hand, now, but another danger.
The head of Alcatraz was sinking, his nostrils distended to the
bursting point, his eyes red and bulging from their sockets. He was
being throttled by the grip of the slip knot; and an instant later his
head disappeared beneath the surface.
Then all weakness passed from Red Perris; there was invigorating wine
in the air he breathed; a vast power clothed him suddenly and while
the frenzy endured he drew Alcatraz swiftly in from the gripping
currents and to the comparatively mild swirl of water where he stood.
Wavering, distorted, and dim as an image in a dull mirror, he saw
the form of the horse float towards him beneath the water. Still the
frenzy was on him. It enabled him to spring from his place, tear the
strangling noose from the neck of the stallion, and lifting that
lifeless head in both hands struggle towards the shore. The water
buoyed a weight which he could not otherwise have budged; he stumbled
in the shoaling gravel to his knees, rose again lifting and straining,
until blackness rushed across his eyes; and he pitched forward on his
face.
He wakened in a whipping rain that stung the back of his neck and as
he propped himself on his arms he found that he had been lying across
the neck and shoulders of the stallion.
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