For, feeling himself surely and certainly sinking lower, the donkey made one more tremendous effort, extricating his fore-legs and beating the fluid peat with them till it grew thinner, and with neck outstretched and mouth open it sank more and more back, till head and legs only could be seen.
Dick did it unconsciously.

His eyes were fixed upon the struggling beast, but his ears were deaf to the shouts behind him.

All he heard was the dismal bray enfeebled to a groan so full of despair that the lad threw the rope, and in throwing lost his balance, fell, and the next moment was struggling in the mire.
He tried to rise, but it was impossible, and as he fought and struggled for a few moments it was to find that the bog was growing thinner and that the patches about him, which looked firm, were beginning to sink.
Was he too going to drown?
he asked himself, and something of the sensation he had felt on the night of the flood came over him.
Then he felt a snatch, and a voice like thunder brought him to himself.
"Howd tight, lad!" The next moment Dick felt himself gliding over the soft bog, and directly after Dave had hold of one of his hands and drew him to a place of safety before running back to the rope.
"All together, lads! Haul!" There was a shout and a tremendous splashing, and Dick Winthorpe struggled to his feet, wiping the black fluid bog from his eyes, to see Solomon hauled right out, slowly at first, then faster and faster, till he was literally run over the slippery surface to where there was firm ground.
"I got it over his head, then ?" said Dick huskily.
"Ay, lad, and over his legs too," cried Hickathrift, as he bent down and loosened the noose.

"Eh, bud it's tight.

That's it!" He dragged the rope off, and the donkey lay perfectly motionless for a few moments, but not with his eyes closed, for he seemed to be glowering round.
"Is he dying, Hicky ?" said Dick.
"Nay, lad; yow can't kill an ass so easy.