She turned resolutely to the gate. Some people fight with airplanes and with guns, but you could fight with a river, too, if it were a wicked one like this one. She wrenched out a huge wooden pin. It was slippery with silvery green moss. The trickle of water burst into a strong jet. When she wrenched one more pin, the rest would give way. She began pulling at it and felt it slip a little from its hole.
“I might be able to get myself out of purgatory with this,” she thought, “and maybe they’ll let me have that old mine of mine, too. What’s a hand of his compared to all this? Then we’ll—“
The pin slipped away, and the gate burst flat against her and knocked her breath away. She had only time to gasp to the river: “Come on, you old demon!”
Then she felt it seize her and lift her up to the sky. It was beneath her and around her. It rolled her joyfully here and there. Then, holding her close and embracing her, it went rushing against the enemy.