“I see her!” cried Mark, presently, as he turned a corner of the trail and came in sight of a wide and shallow stream, backed up by a rocky hill and a tangle of forest growth. “It’s a woman on a hut, and she is in danger of drowning!”
Mark was right. In the middle of the wide stream was a native hut which had been washed away from somewhere and become lodged in between the rocks. On the frail building, which looked as if it might go to pieces at any instant, sat an old colored woman, shrieking for help at the top of her voice. The old woman had with her two children, a white girl and a white boy of perhaps five or six years of age, and to these she was clinging desperately.
“Save us! save us!” cried the colored woman, in Spanish.
“We’ll do what we can,” called back the professor. “Hold tight till we can get to you.”
“How are you going to get to her?” demanded Hockley. “That water is running like mad.”
“I think we can leap from rock to rock,” suggested Sam.
“Let’s take hold of hands,” came from Frank.
“One of you run back for that rope which we saw at the warehouse,” said the professor, and Hockley did so, for the lank youth had no desire to risk his life in that foaming and dashing torrent.
It was no easy matter to leap from one rock to the next, and Professor Strong and the boys advanced with caution. The rain still came down, keeping the footholds wet and blinding their eyesight. Once Mark slipped and went into the stream, but fortunately it was in a shallow where the water only reached to his knees.
At last the hut was gained and with trembling hands the old colored woman handed down first the girl and then the boy. By this time Hockley had returned with the rope, and this was passed out and a line was formed.