Bob and Joe all during that day felt that something could have been done to prevent the natives from killing the plantation owner, or whoever it was that was getting the organ. They were not a little vexed at Dr. Rander for treating the matter so lightly.
“But then,” said Bob hopefully, “maybe the Indians didn’t get away with it.”
Ten minutes later the youths forgot about the incident. They had been struggling over an exceedingly rough stretch when they suddenly came to another river, much wider than the one they had seen several days previously.
“Have to ford it, I guess,” said Joe Lewis. “No other way across.”
Again the boys put on their hip boots, and again they plunged into the water, driving the mules before them. The going here was difficult, as the current was rather strong, and the mules had to be watched more closely.
They were about halfway across when the old explorer cried out in fright.
“Help!” His voice was wild with terror.
“What is it?” demanded Joe, who was nearest him.
Then the youth saw. Dr. Rander was rapidly sinking into a hole. Already the water had reached his chest, and he was going down rapidly.
Joe at once put thought into action. He dashed over to one of the mules, opened a bag, and began searching about for a rope.