Night came on, and still the three—a man, a woman and a young girl—stood ankle deep in the cold water, which showed no sign of receding.

Mrs. Henderson was completely worn out. At Shirley’s suggestion, Henderson placed her upon the back of the horse, where she was at least dry.

“There is no telling how long we may have to remain here,” said Henderson. “The water may not go down before morning.”

“But,” said Shirley, “we cannot remain here that long. We must do something.”

“What?” asked Henderson briefly.

“Well, we might try shouting,” said Shirley. “Some one might hear us.”

They both raised their voices to their loudest and shouted long and often. But no reply came.

Shirley glanced carefully about her in the dim light. They stood on the very top of the little hill, and all about them was water. Perhaps a quarter of a mile to the right, however, was another elevation, and this Shirley knew was not merely a similar hill, but high ground that ran back for miles—the land upon which all those in the flooded valley had sought safety.

“I have a plan,” she said quietly to Henderson.

“What is it?” he asked eagerly.

“It’s very simple,” was the reply. “I shall mount the horse, and we shall try and swim through the short expanse of water to the dry ground over there,” and she pointed across the flood.

Henderson started back aghast at the boldness of this plan. Beneath them the water still swished angrily, although it had lost much of its force.

“I’ll not hear of it,” he said shortly. “You shall not risk your life.”

“But,” protested the girl, “we are all likely to become numbed and perish here.”

She shivered slightly as she spoke, for the night air was damp, cold and penetrating.

“I think it is the best way,” she added quietly. “Besides, what danger is there? Hero,” she named the horse in that moment, “can make it all right. All I shall have to do is cling to him tightly.”

“But the current may be very strong,” protested Henderson.

“Not too strong for us, is it, Hero?” she asked the horse, and patted him gently again.

Hero whinnied in reply, and seemed as eager as the girl to make the trial. He seemed to understand the conversation, and besides, he was anxious to reach a place where there was warmth, dry straw and good oats.

“Yes, it is the best way,” said Shirley decisively.

Henderson looked at her closely, then turned away with a sigh, for that one glance was enough to tell him that the young girl would have her way.

He lifted his wife from Hero’s back, and Shirley immediately climbed into the saddle.

“I’ll send a boat for you,” Shirley called over her shoulder, as, with a tug of the reins, she headed Hero into the water.

“Good luck!” called Henderson. “Keep your head, and hold tight. Don’t be swept off the horse’s back.”

Shirley did not reply, but kept her eyes straight ahead.

Gradually Hero sank lower and lower into the water, and then went under suddenly. His feet no longer touched the bottom.

Henderson and his wife cried out in alarm as horse and girl sank beneath the water; but they rose again in a moment, and, shaking the water from his eyes with an angry snort, Hero struck out boldly for the distant shore.

The current was still strong and gradually bore them down the valley. But Hero made headway, and every stroke of his mighty legs bore them much nearer safety.

Now darkness, thick and intense, descended over the valley, and neither horse nor rider could see five yards ahead. But neither lost heart, Hero plunging straight ahead and Shirley clinging tightly to his neck and uttering low words of encouragement.

For a long, long time, as it seemed to both horse and rider, they continued their cold and wet journey; then, abruptly, Hero’s feet struck the rising ground of the high land. A moment later he stood on all feet, the water up to his knees, but with solid ground beneath him. Quickly he drew himself free of the water, and Shirley, soaking wet, and cramped from the one position she had been forced to maintain, jumped stiffly to the ground.

She threw her arms around the horse’s neck, and gave him a great hug.

“Good old Hero!” she exclaimed. “I knew you would bring us over safely. Now to find some one and send them after the Hendersons.”

She walked quickly along in the darkness, Hero following her like a dog.

At last, in the distance, she made out a dim light and hurried on toward it. Soon she was close enough to make out that she was approaching a little house, through a window of which the light twinkled. She broke into a run, and without stopping to knock, dashed inside.

A man and a woman rose to their feet, and Shirley was also conscious of other figures in the room.

A pain shot through her head, she reeled dizzily and toppled over in a dead faint; but before she lost consciousness she heard a voice that sounded many miles away exclaim:

“Why, Shirley Willing! What are you doing here, and in this condition?”

When Shirley recovered consciousness she lay upon a little bed, and several figures were bending over her. One she recognized in a moment, and addressed it in a low voice and with a smile on her face.

“Mabel!” she exclaimed. “Where am I and what is the matter with me?”

But before the other could reply, the thrilling experience she had been through came back to her like a flash; and springing from the bed, unmindful of the sharp pain that shot through her head, she exclaimed:

“The Hendersons! Quick! Have you a boat?”

“There, there,” said the girl whom she had addressed as Mabel. “You are a little overwrought. Lie down again, dearie.”

Shirley shook off the other’s hand.

“The Hendersons,” she explained, “are marooned on a little hill in the midst of the raging flood. They must be helped quickly. Mrs. Henderson is ill and unless she is given shelter at once may die from exposure.”

Immediately all in the room began to ask questions, but Shirley, raising a hand, stopped them. Then, briefly, she explained the situation.

The men in the room leaped to their feet and dashed out of the house. Shirley ran after them.

“You may not be able to find the place in the dark,” she said, “but I think I can show you the way. My sense of direction has always been good.”

In spite of the protests of the others, she went with the men while they hauled a large rowboat out of a nearby shed and dragged it to the water’s edge.

Here, launching it, they all climbed in. Shirley would have followed, but one man objected.

“You are worn out now,” he said. “You had better get to bed.”

But Shirley was not to be denied.

“This is my adventure,” she said warmly, “and besides, I can probably help you locate the Hendersons. My eyes are unusually sharp.”

She stepped into the boat in spite of all protests, and soon, under the strong arms of the men, the little craft leaped out over the water.

It was pitch dark, and almost impossible for the occupants of the boat to see their hands before them. A lantern in the prow of the boat only seemed to make the darkness more intense.

After half an hour’s rowing the men rested on their oars and listened. There was no sound. They rowed for perhaps another quarter of an hour, and again paused to listen. Just as they were about to go on again, Shirley’s ears caught the sound of a distant hail.

“Listen!” she cried, and all sat silently.

The hail came again, but at first those in the boat were unable to tell from what direction. They listened and it came again.

“Back and to the right,” said Shirley. “We must have passed them in the darkness.”

The boat was brought about and headed in the direction Shirley indicated; and still there was no sign of the Hendersons. But the next hail was clearer, and much closer.

“Come straight ahead!” came the cry over the flood.

The rowers now followed the directions shouted across the water, and after what seemed a very long time, made out, directly ahead, the figure of a man and a woman, huddled close together to keep warm. It was Henderson and his wife.

Once inside the boat, Mrs. Henderson promptly fainted. Shirley lifted the unconscious woman’s head into her lap and bathed her face with water, and she soon revived.

The boat made rapid progress on the return journey and soon all were in the warm enclosure of the little house. Mrs. Henderson was promptly put to bed, but Shirley had something else to do.

Calling one of the men to follow her, she left the house and, after some searching, came upon what she sought.

This was Hero standing at the door of the little stable, nosing it and trying his best to get in. Shirley turned to her companions.

“This,” she said, stroking the animal’s wet mane, “is the one you all have to thank for your escape from the flood. Had it not been for Hero, I would have been unable to give the warning, and now it seems to me he is entitled to a nice warm stall and some nice fresh oats. Would you like them, Hero?”

The horse whinnied in joy, and one of the men said:

“He certainly shall have both.”

He approached and took the animal by the bridle, but Hero drew back.

“Maybe you can lead him,” said the man. “He won’t come for me.”

Shirley laughed. “Come, Hero!” she called and without leading he followed her into the stable, where he was escorted to a clean stall.

“And now you go to bed,” said one of the men to Shirley.

“I’ll stay and see him fed first,” replied the girl.

“All right, have your own way!”

He produced the oats, and soon Hero was nosing and eating them contentedly.

Then, and not until then, did Shirley return to the house. Throwing off her wet garments, she crept into bed when, tired and worn out, she closed her eyes and slept.