Clay by Ana Leigh Page A

water and disappeared. Hitched to the buggy, the struggling horse could not maintain its balance and was dragged down and swept away with the carriage.
    Helena and the children cried with relief when Howard’s head appeared a few yards downstream, and he started to swim toward the opposite shore, where several rescuers waited to toss him a rope and pull him out of the water.
    “Thank goodness no one else was in that buggy,” Rebecca said.
    “My little brother wanted to ride along,” Henrietta said, “but Daddy wouldn’t let him because Georgie doesn’t know how to swim.”
    “Neither do I,” Rebecca said. “I never had any reason to learn how.”
    A harsh bray erupted from one of the mules. The bouncing was making the livestock restless, and several more of the mules added their discordant protest. Clay went over to quiet them down, but the nervous mules started to stomp and tried to pull free from the ropes that were restraining them.
    “Let me try,” Rebecca said.
    “Stay away from them, Rebecca,” Clay warned.
    Rebecca paid no attention to him. She went over to the one she’d named Brutus and started to unwind one of the restraining lines that had wrapped around the animal’s leg.
    “Rebecca, get away from that mule!” Clay shouted, just as she succeeded in freeing the mule’s leg.
    Braying loudly, the mule kicked out. Rebecca dodged the kick, but lost her balance when the ferry swerved. Arms flailing, she tottered like an acrobat on a high wire for several terrifying seconds. Then, with a terrified scream, she tumbled backward over the side.
    Cold, watery blackness swirled around her, choking her with panic. When she surfaced, coughing, several of the crewmembers threw her ropes—but she couldn’t swim, and made desperate grabs at them before the current seized her and carried her away.
    Clay had already shucked his gunbelt and boots, and dived into the water. The cold shock took his breath away. When he broke the surface, he began to swim. Rebecca was already about fifteen yards ahead of him, floundering helplessly as the current carried her downstream.
    The current aided his progress, and he rapidly gained on her and overtook her. She was still conscious, and as soon as he grabbed her, she clutched at him frantically. They both went under. When they resurfaced, she began choking and coughing, clinging to him with a stranglehold around his neck.
    Now he was fighting not only the current, but also her, and his own waning strength. He had to pry her fingers away so he could breathe.
    “Let go, Rebecca! I have you!”
    His words must have cut through her panic, because she relaxed enough for him to grasp her under her arms and keep their heads above water.
    “Hold on to my belt!” he shouted above the roar of the water.
    Her hands groped at his waist. Then, still grasping her under the arms, he started to work his way toward the bank with a one-arm sidestroke.
    It was a slow process. He was literally towing her and trying to keep her head above water at the same time—a process debilitating to both his breath and strength. At times he had to stop and tread water, allowing the current to carry them further downstream.
    After what seemed like hours, they finally reached the riverbank.
    Rebecca had swallowed a lot of water while being towed, and she was coughing and gasping for breath. Clay flipped her over on her stomach and began pumping the water out of her.
    As soon as both had regained their breath, Clay stripped down to his drawers, then lay back, exhausted, and let the sun dry his shivering body. Rebecca’s teeth were chattering, and she had her arms wrapped across her chest to try and stay warm. There was no dry wood to build a fire, and even if there were, he had no way to light it; his flint was in his pack on the wagon.
    “Rebecca, you’ve got to get out of those wet clothes,” he said. “You’ll warm up a lot faster with them off, rather then waiting for them to dry on