“Quick!” Late cried as soon as he was out of the water. “If we hurry down below the falls we may save our packs.”
“But we’ve lost our guns,” Joe added, following his comrade as rapidly as his wet garments would permit.
They found, despite the statement of the old man, that there was a fair trail around the rapids on that side, and were soon at the lower end. But, rapidly as they moved, the lunatic outstripped them, and not only secured the packs, but began dancing about with, his rifle in hand, crying:
“I’ll shoot if you attempt to come over here! I’ll shoot you!”
The boys watched him in silence a few minutes, and then Joe exclaimed:
“This is a pretty fix! Our rifles are lost, the food is gone, we are wet to the skin, night is comin’ on, I’d like to know what we are goin’ to do?”
“Go back to the upper end of the falls and build a fire. Dry our clothes and camp out till mornin’. Then fish up the guns, an’ go our way!” his comrade said sharply, fumbling to see if the flint and steel were still in his pocket.
When they gained the higher bank it was to find that Master Daggett had been equally active, for he stood on the opposite side, still threatening to shoot them.
“We’ll get out of range before building a fire,” Late said as he led the way into the woods.
They soon came to a small clearing in which was a huge oak tree.