SERGEANT FRANK NEAVILLE. 261 



soundly to hear them. Such life was new to Frank, and 

 he didn't sleep much. 



A rifle shot awoke me in the morning, and there was 

 a thundering sound of rising ducks. Henry had killed a 

 mallard, and then the problem was to get the bird. The 

 shore was soft black mud, deep and treacherous, and al- 

 though the duck was not over thirty feet away, and stone 

 dead, it was no easy matter to get it. Frank and I ad- 

 vised him not to attempt it, but he vowed he'd have that 

 duck "if it took a leg." He began to gather driftwood, 

 brush and limbs and threw them in to make a bridge, and 

 as he was in earnest we helped him. When he thought 

 his bridge was long enough, so that from its end he could 

 reach the duck with a pole, he started. I whispered to 

 Frank a caution not to speak to him, and we watched. 

 The passage was a success; he reached his pole for the 

 duck, something rolled, and he was floundering in the 

 mud. There was only a couple of inches of water where 

 he was, and as he struggled he sank to his waist. We 

 could not tell how much further he might sink if he 

 struggled. 



I called to him: "Don't move or you may go deeper; 

 keep perfectly still, and we'll get you out. Is there a 

 grapevine on this island?" 



"Not a vine," said he, cool as a cucumber. "Take 

 your time ; I won't stir." 



He was over twenty feet from sound footing, and we 

 cut a sapling and shoved the end to him and pulled until 

 he could hold on no longer. He let go so suddenly that 

 we sat down. He had bent forward so that the mud 

 covered his breast. Frank began to fear for his brother, 

 but I had another plan. I cut a green cottonwood, or 

 perhaps it was an aspen, which had a fork at about 

 twenty-five feet, and these two limbs were of an inch or 



