“Well, maybe there will be something for Curly after all,” Helen cried, as she followed Ruth out of the room.
Through the wide doorway they could see the boat approaching. And they could hear it, too, for it was a small launch chugging swiftly up to the submerged island.
“Oh, goody!” cried Nettie. “Maybe we can get across the river and back to Merredith.”
It looked as though the launch had just come from the other side of the swollen stream. Jimson and several of the negroes were on the porch to meet the launch as it touched.
There were but two men in it, one at the wheel and the other in the bow. The latter, a gray-haired man with a broad-brimmed hat, blue clothes, and a silver star on his breast, stepped out upon the porch in his high boots.
“Hullo, Jimson,” he said, greeting the warehouse boss. “Just a little wet here, ain’t yo’?”
“A little, Sheriff,” said Jimson.
“I’m after a party they told me at your house was probably over here. A boy from the No’th. Name’s Henry Smith. Is he yere? I was told to get him and notify folks up No’th that the little scamp’s cotched. He’s been stealin’ up there, and they want him.”
CHAPTER XXIII—“HERE’S A STATE OF THINGS!”
The words of the deputy sheriff came clearly to the ears of Ruth Fielding and her two girl friends as they stood on the lower step of the broad flight leading to the second floor of the hotel.