“Hark! What’s that?” suddenly asked Bob, who was at the wheel.
“Sounds like another boat coming up the river,” said Jerry. “Maybe it’s the Terror.”
“No, it’s the noise of the falls you hear,” put in Ned. “We are almost at the grist mill.”
“Oh sure enough, so we are,” said Jerry.
Swinging around a bend in the river the boys came in sight of the dam, over which the water was pouring in a large volume as the mill had shut down and none was being diverted into the big flume. At the same time the occupants of the Dartaway caught sight of something that caused them to exclaim in terror.
In the grasp of the powerful current was a small rowboat, in which were two girls. They were struggling frantically at the oars, but, in spite of their efforts to stem the stream, and get beyond the pull of the waterfall they were slowly drifting nearer and nearer the edge.
“Put her over there! We’ve got to save ’em!” cried Ned to Bob. “Put her over!”
“Wait a minute!” came from Jerry. “If you steer over there we’ll be caught in the current too! Let me take the wheel, Bob. Ned you look after the engine! Bob you go to the stern and stand ready to toss ’em a line. I only hope they’ll know enough to keep hold of it or tie it to their boat.”
Having issued his orders, Jerry hurried to the wheel, while the others took the positions designated. Jerry at once threw the engine to full speed ahead, and the Dartaway shot forward.