“It’s a beer barrel,” were the first words from the investigators, “full o’ nothin’.”
But the waders, glad to be in the splashing riffle, continued their advance, twisting and balancing themselves on the slippery stones.
“There’s marks on it!” yelled Art a moment later. The keg was standing end up and on a big flat stone. Its upper part was dry. As Art and Wart reached it, one glance drew their heads downward for a closer look. As the two boys grasped the head of the keg it slid off the rock and fell on its side in the water. Art was excitedly waving his arms to Connie and the others and yelling: “Come quick, all o’ you. It’s—” But even in his excitement he could see Wart vainly attempting to hold the cask with his scout staff.
“Stop it,” Art shouted. Then he too was floundering after the keg which was bumping up and down. For a moment Wart’s staff caught and held the cask. Then it rolled around the stick and into deeper water.
“She’s gone,” shouted Wart to those on shore. “Get her down below the rapids. Run!”
Art did not despair at once. Springing forward in a deluge of spray he tried to overtake the barrel. He thought he had it once and made a final lunge. The slippery object spun about under the tips of his fingers and the boy fell flat in the water. Before he could get to his feet Wart splashed by him. He could just reach the cask with his stick. But he could not hold it. Yet he slackened it until the drenched Art rejoined him. By this time the water was well above each boy’s knees.
Suddenly the cask was caught by a new current and torn away from the two staffs. It turned over several times in the deeper water as if preparing for the swift journey through the whirlpool.
“Come on!” shouted Art to Wart. “Don’t let her get away. Let’s go with her. Them kids may let her get away.”