"I believe that this yacht was once my father's," replied Mont, earnestly. "His was named the Kitty, and was last seen on this river, above Corney. He used it to cruise around the lakes in."
"Yes, but that was above the falls," returned Jack. "You don't mean----" he began.
"Yes, I do. The water was higher years ago, and I'm convinced that his boat was caught in the stream and went over the falls."
Jack stepped back in astonishment.
"But he could never live through it," he cried.
"He was never seen after that," returned the young man, gravely, "Yet we came out alive," he added. "If he was on the boat he might have escaped."
Mont led the way carefully down the half-rotten companion way into the cabin below.
There the air was foul and stifling. It was totally dark, but Jack stumbled around until he found a small window and threw open a shutter.
A curious sight met their gaze. The place looked as if it had been left immediately after a struggle, although this might have been caused by a violent movement of the craft. A big armchair lay upset in one corner, with a pile of books in another. On the table lay a pile of written and printed papers, some of which had been swept to the floor, and were covered with the ink from an upturned bottle, which, however, had dried years before. Dust, mold and cobwebs were everywhere.
Jack picked up some of the written matter and brushing off the dust tried to read it.