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 grip of the storm, whose howling voice was like a dozen furies madly trying to bear him away. His hands were flying as if in defiance of the elements that raged about him. There was a wild look on his face. He raged and struggled, his mind completely gone.

As Truman looked at the old man, pity in his heart at the sight, he noted that there was a stump not very far from the edge of the woods to which if he could get the old man, his life would be saved. To shout a warning would not suffice since no human voice could carry above the roar and rumble of the cyclone which had reached almost the height of its fury by this time. He could not bear to think of the old man being carried away to a horrible death, crushed among the falling tree trunks and other dèbrisdébris [sic]. Colonel Lauriston had now grasped a bending sapling and was hanging on instinctively. Bennet leaned over to Lida and shouted, "Don't let go. Hold on. I'll save him."

As he released his grip on the stump he was blown so rapidly that he was almost forced out of the path of the old man. Like a man crossing a swiftly flowing stream, tacking at an angle to reach the other shore, Bennet struggled. At each stump, where he rested and regained his breath, he paused, to select another anchor toward which he would be blown and cling. At the third stump he failed to guide his way so that he was knocked against it with such force as to be almost stunned. Recovering himself he made another effort and this time was carried to the edge of the woods and to Colonel Lauriston. The lat-