“If the one chance in a hundred happens,” said Tom, gazing steadily up stream, “and, Jack, old boy, I believe that it is.”
“What!”
“Look up yonder, what’s that coming down the river?”
“Looks like a whole tree. It must have been uprooted in a freshet. Yes—it is a tree.”
“No, it isn’t, either.”
Jack looked at his brother in some amazement, but despite the seriousness of their predicament, he could not help smiling as the other went on:
“If things go right, that’s our boat.”
Breathlessly they watched the drifting tree as it was borne toward them on the crest of the current. It was a fairly large one, with a mass of roots sticking up at one end. Despite its size, the stream was carrying it along as if it had been a straw.
Almost before they knew it, the trunk was within a few feet of them.
“When I shout, don’t hesitate,” warned Tom, “for we’ll only have a second in which to act, and it’s our only chance.”