“The last time we saw the boat,” Case remembered, “it passed us, and Gran was riding in it, and a long-armed man was rowing like mad. It ought to be below us. I wonder if they were tipped into the river when the boat was crushed.”
“Sure it was our boat?” he asked. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
“It was the wreck of our boat,” Clay insisted. “Well, it is only one more mystery for us to forget. I wish Gran was here to-night.”
“So do I,” cried Case. “He’d be tickled half to death to get some of my bread!”
“I hope the poor boy isn’t lying at the bottom of the river, somewhere, or drifting in this yellow flood,” Clay said. “I would give a great deal to know why he left us.”
“He tried to tell us something in that paper,” Alex cut in. “I wish he had had more time to write. I guess that long-armed chap just grabbed him and started away. We’ll catch up with him yet, if he isn’t dead.”
The boys talked for a long time, Captain Joe snoring at their feet and Teddy somewhere in the cabin. They would have been on their way that night, only they were entirely ignorant of the character of the river below them. There might be more dangerous rapids close at hand.
“Case,” Clay said, at length, “why don’t you go in and look at your bread? You turned off the heat, and it will be getting cold. Then we won’t have any bread—which would be a shame.”
“I clear forgot about it,” Case answered. “HI go right in and look after it. It won’t get cold, for the pan under it and the board and the stove are warm, or were when I switched off the electricity. Guess I’ll mix it now. It must be about time. Who’ll stay up and help me bake it?”
“I will!” answered Alex. “I’m just hungry for bread.”