Little rivers whispered down the hillside, growing wider and taking loose twigs and rubbish with them as they curled among the drift of roots, a steady music in the darkness. A log rolled against Dan’s feet and said Uhh. Look out there, he heard himself crying, and then he had found the cracker box. Some shrubbery had helped to protect it but the top layer was wet. He said aloud, “If I only had something,” and an arm reached out and tugged at his pantaloons. Here, the growl rasped, and the man was offering his coat. Bale spread the garment over the box; the lantern told him that this jacket was gray … He went hunting Tyler Fanning. Ty’s face was spectral and collapsed, but he was conscious. He complained, “I’m fairly soaked,” and after a moment—” Go on, if there’s anything you can do for anyone else. This is—pretty mess—must say.”

The little colonies of lanterns, guarded with a new and frightening jealousy, were wandering toward the creek; they danced, they were hurrying. He’s drowning, a howl came floating up, for God’s sake hurry up … just slid off in the river … Rock Creek had a sullen, mounting roar not to be disdained. Dan tried to run; a tree-trunk scraped the side of his face. He blundered on toward the lower ground. Lights were bobbing like glow-worms, and with no leadership or ordered purpose. He felt a curl of water around his shoes, now he was splashing, the stream whistled eagerly between his ankles. It was spreading, and this seemed a cloudburst which nature had sent to punish them all … His lantern found a muddy face, and he groped through brown foam for the man’s hand, and then the flood killed his lantern forever.

At least he held his hand, and he would not let go. He yelled, “I’ve got you,” and the tired mumble told him, For Christ sake hang onto me, and then an ungodly spasm—you done got my hurt arm, for Christ sake leggo! He wrenched his arm under the man’s shoulders and dragged him back, fighting through the water as it tried to steal his breath from him. They came up on some sort of a mound where the creek no longer sang around his legs. Bale said, “Wait till I get my bearings.”

His black burden announced, “Guess you’re a Yank. This is a deeloodge, like the Bible tells about.”

Dan fancied he could see the trees; he dragged the man farther, and the safe slope began to tilt under them. “All right, now,” the rebel said. “You can let me drap anywhere. Thought I’d not get home to Nawth Kalina again.”

Two out of three, Dan thought, it’s the same story this time. He yelled, “There seem to be a lot of North Carolina folks around here.”