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 and thrashed to lift himself; he begged Ruth to help him; and, turning as far about as she could, she tried to lift his head with her hands, but she could not. The water covered him; and, after a few moments, he was quite still.

The dam at the back of the car, which had caused the pool to rise that high, failed to hold the water much higher; it ran out of the sides of the car before it covered Ruth. It soaked her through; and the weight of the machine held her quite helpless. But she had air and could breathe.

From the forward seat came no sound and no movement. The driver either had been flung out in one of the tumbles of the car or, like his master, he had been killed under it. Ruth could only wonder which.

But someone was coming down the embankment from the road now; more than one person; several. Ruth could hear their movements through the underbrush. Now they talked together—timidly, it seemed, and at a little distance. Now they approached, still timidly and talking.

These were men's voices, but strange in intonations and in language. It was not German, or French, or any tongue with which Ruth was at all familiar. It must be Russian. The timid men were Russians—some of the slaves!

One of them touched the car and, kneeling, peered under it.