With heavy hearts, Dave and the others returned to the cabin. The water in the cove had now risen so high that it swept the edge of the lean-to.
“Can we get to shore?” asked Buster. “We haven’t any boat,” he added, turning to Dave.
“We can if you’ll hurry,” replied Jerry Blutt. “Every minit lost makes it jest so much more dangerous.”
In great haste Ben and Buster and the camp-worker gathered together such belongings as they could conveniently carry. The other things were placed in a trunk and hoisted by ropes into a big tree. Then a lantern was tied on a post in front of the cabin and to it was fastened a brief note, 237 for Phil’s benefit, stating they had gone to the shore.
“Oh, I hope he is safe!” murmured Dave, anxiously.
“So do I,” added his chums.
Jerry Blutt led the way along the shore of the island and then out into the stream. They had the second camp lantern with them, one belonging to Jerry. He led the way from rock to rock, and they followed in single file, Dave bringing up the rear. Ever and anon our hero looked back for some sign of Phil, but without avail.
Once out in the river, all were certain that the dam above Camptown Falls had burst. The water ran with great rapidity and was filled with dirt and débris of various kinds. On the rocks that were low they had all they could do to keep their footing.
The most dangerous part of the river had yet to be passed—a section close to the shore, where the water was deep and the rocks for fording few.
“Mind your footin’ here!” sang out the camp-worker. “An’ if you slip, look out thet you don’t hurt yourselves!”