In the times of famine long years before the days of the master there had been ways of catching fish.
He edged forward until the water foamed about his shoulders.

Down came Dan, his arms tumbling as he whirled, and on the sleeve of one of those arms the teeth of Bart closed.

The cloth was stout, and yet it ripped as if it were rotten veiling, and the tug nearly swept Bart from his place.
Still, he clung; his teeth shifted their hold with the speed of light and closed over the arm of the master itself, slipped, sank deeper, drew blood, and held.

Barry swung around and a moment later stood with his feet buried firmly in the bank.
He had not a moment to spare, for Satan, only his eyes and his nose showing, rushed down the current, making his last fight.

Barry thrust his feet deeper in the sand, leaned, buried both hands in the mane of the stallion.