“I’ll scull,” he said, “and when we reach the slough you can row.”
The return progress was slower, for the current was against them. Whenever Hal could help with the oars, he did, but at many points there was not room to use them. However, the current, while hindering, also served as a guide.
“The river’s falling!” suddenly cried Hal, pointing to a tree-trunk close at hand. “See there!”
A narrow margin of wet, marking where the water must have been, was visible on the bark, above the smooth tide.
“And there’s some mud!” he triumphantly added, at a strip of ooze from which the water had receded.
“Humph!” commented Ned; whether from pleasure or disappointment, was not clear.
Yes, the crest of the freshet had passed. Upon every tree within sight was the unmistakable sign.
But the dog in the bows of the boat slept on. He was not interested; for all he cared the flood might last forever. He was beyond its clutches.
The trip home was achieved by dint of incessant tugging and pulling. The boys crossed the slough, and then worked their way along the shore, where the current was not so fierce. Finally, with blistered hands and numb wrists they glided in behind the warehouse, whence they had started.