Arriving at the bridge, the country lad, who said his name was Ferd Armstrong, tied his horse, and went down to the edge of the creek to help Jack look for his property.
“That’s about where it fell in,” said Jack, throwing a stone into the water as nearly as he could at the spot where he had seen the case disappear. “Maybe if I had a long pole I could fish it out.”
“I know a better way than that,” volunteered Ferd.
“How?”
“Take off your shoes and stockings and wade in. I’ll help ye.”
The boys did this, and soon were walking carefully about in the creek, peering here and there for a sight of the case. The stream was clear, and they could see bottom almost everywhere. But there was no sign of the flat valise.
“Th’ current must have carried it below th’ bridge,” suggested Ferd. “We’ll look there. But don’t wade under th’ bridge. There’s deep holes there, made by an eddy. It’s over yer head in one place.”
They walked along the bank until they were below the bridge, and then they resumed their search. Jack got a long pole and poked it into places where Ferd said it was too deep to wade, but their efforts were fruitless. The dress-suit case had disappeared.
“It’s either been carried a long way downstream, or else some one saw it and walked off with it,” declared Jack. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to do without it. But it’s tough luck.”
“Where ye goin’ now?” asked Ferd.