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full-grown man, even one who was a strong swimmer. He was no hero. If he went in after the boy, the odds were better than even that he would drown. It would not be death four or five months hence, but now, in broad daylight watched by a dozen strangers.
    He wasn’t ready yet . He stared at the deluge, rigid with fear, and could not make himself move forward.
    Then the raging waters lifted the boy’s head above the surface. For an instant their gazes met. The terror and despair on the child’s face ended Stephen’s paralysis. He took two steps forward and made a long, flat dive into the turbulent river. The muddy water was shockingly cold after the warm summer day. Blinking silt from his eyes, he struck across the current. It pummeled him fiercely as he fought his way toward the center of the river. But he was making progress. He should intersect the boy’s course in a dozen or so strokes.
    As he neared his quarry, the boy submerged again. Stephen dived below the surface, stretching as far forward as he could. His fingers found a yielding object and he grabbed, catching the boy’s wrist. He pulled the small body toward him to get a better grip, at the same time kicking hard to propel them upward.
    The boy was gulping for air when the pair emerged into the sunshine, but he had the wits to cooperate, not fighting or grabbing at his rescuer. Stephen looped an arm around the narrow chest and started toward shore.
    With only one arm free for swimming, progress against the rushing river was slow. Stephen almost lost hold of the boy when a swirling branch slammed into his throat. He choked, inhaled water, and went under. By the time he got himself and his charge above the surface again, he was exhausted. But the riverbank was only a few feet away. He was reaching toward it wearily when he heard a cry of warning.
    It was already too late. Something smashed into Stephen with numbing force, and he knew no more.

Chapter 4
    Panting with effort, Rosalind managed to keep up with the men of the company, who were cutting across the field to the river where Brian had fallen. But they would not be in time. Unless a miracle occurred, her little brother would drown right in front of their eyes. She had no breath to spare, so her prayer was silent. Please God, oh, dear God, please don’t let him die….
    Then she saw a horseman turn from the road to the river below them. The rider vaulted from his mount when he reached the bank and peeled off his coat. After an intense study of the river, he plunged into the torrent, his powerful body cleaving the waters and propelling him toward Brian.
    Beside her, Calvin Ames, the Fitzgerald driver, ticket seller, and man of all work, swore as Brian and the man both disappeared. “Damned fool. They’ll both drown.”
    â€œNo!” Thomas said, agonized. His breathing was ragged and his face flushed, but he did not slow as he raced along the bank. “We’ll get there in time. We must .”
    The stranger resurfaced, one arm locked around Brian. “Look!” Rosalind cried, giving passionate thanks as the man began struggling toward shore. But the churning waters were fierce. Could even a strong man reach safety with only one arm free for swimming? Yet he was making headway, hard-fought foot by hard-fought foot.
    Then renewed fear stabbed through her. A tree trunk was sweeping down on the pair. Barely visible, it was moving with the force of a runaway coach. Rosalind cried a warning, though the man could not avoid the hazard even if he saw it.
    The log struck, and both dark heads disappeared.
    A long, long minute passed. Then Rosalind saw the man rise again, Brian still secure in his grasp. And finally luck was on their side. The current had carried the pair from the fields into a wooded area. Ahead another willow leaned out over the river, the lower branches submerged. The current carried the two right into it. The man wrapped his free arm about a branch