Uncle Jabez straightened up, holding the painter doubtfully.
"Aw, well," he grunted. "If there's somebody in it——"
He saw no reason for going after the drifting boat if it were manned. He could not claim the boat or claim salvage for it under such circumstances.
But the strange boat was drifting toward the rapids of the Lumano that began just below the mill. In the present state of the river this "white water," as lumbermen call it, was dangerous.
"Why, how foolish!" Helen cried. "Whoever is in that boat is lying in the bottom of it."
"And drifting right toward the middle of the river!" added her twin.
"Hurry up, Uncle Jabez!" urged Ruth. "We must go out there."
"What fur, I'd like to know?" demanded the miller sharply. "We ain't hired ter go out an' wake up every reckless fule that goes driftin' by."
"Of course not. But maybe he's not asleep," Ruth said quickly. "Maybe he's hurt. Maybe he has fainted. Why, a dozen things might have happened!"
"An' a dozen things might not have happened," said old Jabez Potter, coolly retying the painter.