“He’s holding his own,” remarked Ned.
“Yes, but if the fever doesn’t break up soon he’ll—”
Jerry didn’t finish, and Ned did not ask him what he meant.
“The nitre is all gone,” went on Ned. “I don’t know what to give him now.”
“We’ll bathe him in witch hazel,” suggested Jerry. “That has alcohol in it, and I’ve heard that’s what they wash fever patients in. It may do him some good.”
Bob did seem a little more comfortable after Ned and Jerry had sponged him with the witch hazel, of which they had a large bottle. But the fever was soon raging again, and poor Bob tossed more restlessly than before, while he murmured in his delirium of ice water and other cooling drinks.
Morning came at last. As soon as it was light Jerry hurried down to the lake. What he saw caused him to cry out in surprise. The Dartaway was now ten feet from the edge.
“There’s only thing to do!” exclaimed Jerry.
“What is that?” asked Ned.
“We’ve got to get the boat into the deep water. Otherwise it will soon be so far away we can’t float her.”