“I’ll be whip-sawed! them little Miss Yanks is right there, ain’t they?”
At that, Curly Smith woke up. “Say!” he cried. “Are Ruth Fielding and Helen Cameron at that hotel that’s afire?”
“Huh?” demanded Jimson. “Them little Miss Yanks?”
“Yes.”
“If they stuck to Miss Nettie, they are,” agreed the warehouse boss. “And Jeffreys said he left ’em there, when he come back jest ‘fo’ supper.”
“Those girls in that burning building?” repeated Curly. “Say, Mr. Jimson! you aren’t going to stand here and do nothing about it, are you?”
“Wal! what d’ye reckon we kin do?” asked the man, scratching his head in a puzzled way. “There’s more’n we-uns over there to rescue the ladies.”
“And the river up all around them? And no boats?” demanded Curly.
“Sho’! I never thought of that,” admitted the man. “Here’s this old bateau yere——”
“Can you and me row it?” asked Curly, sharply.