In two strokes he was able to grasp the drowning man by the
collar and began to tug him towards the bank.
But it appeared that the fellow had other views on the right method
of being saved: for, casting his arms about Tristram's neck and
wreathing them tightly, he not only resisted all efforts to drag him
ashore, but began to throttle his rescuer. In the struggle both went
under.
As the water closed over them the drowning man relaxed his hold a
little, and Tristram, breaking free, rose to the surface coughing and
spouting like a whale. Another moment, and a hand appeared above the
water, its fingers hooked like a bird's talons. This grisly appeal
determined Tristram to make another attempt. He kicked out, seized
the uplifted arm just around the wrist, and with half a dozen fierce
strokes managed to gain the bank at the feet of his enemies.
While he dug a hand into the soft mud and paused for a moment to
shift his hold and draw breath, one of the three unclasped a leathern
belt and dangled it over the brink. Tristram reached out, caught it
by the buckle, and was helped up with his burden. Two pairs of
strong arms grasped and pulled him forward.
"Turn him--on his face and let the water--run out; then on his back--
give him air!" he gasped, and with that fainted clean away on the
green turf.
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