"Dunno, Billy. Beckon there's eight or nine foot of water out there. Might be less. At any rate it'd be hours."
"Hours!" cried Tom. "An' s'posin' that poor creature's still alive?"
"That settles it!" exclaimed Joe, rising in his seat in excitement. "Boys, what's to be done must be done quickly."
Seemingly all were agreed. At least no objection was offered to this proposal, or, rather, mandate. So it was resolved, after some cogitation, to pull the boat through the timber to a point some distance higher up than the isolated clump. From thence the course would be outwards until the river current was met; an estimated distance of a hundred yards. The boat was to be headed against the current when in the stream influence. A vigorous row would be necessary to neutralise the current, to be modified so as to allow the craft to drift slowly down-stream. Then, when opposite the clump, a dash for the tree whereon the unfortunate woman was lying was to be made.
Inasmuch as this tree was almost in the centre of the group, and the stream still ran with violence, it was easy to see that without skilful management, and some luck, the boat might be stove in against a tree-bole; or, worse still, might be impaled upon a submerged snag. Any accident, such as missing way at a critical moment, or the snapping of an oar blade, might be fraught with the most disastrous consequences.
During the short conference Jimmy Flynn had kept silence. Towards the end, as Joe set forth the attendant dangers, he became considerably perturbed. After sundry wrigglings and contortions, rubbing of hands and licking of lips, these visual twistings found voice.
"I say, Joe! don't—er—yer think that—er—we'd better wait a bit?"
"Why?" chorused the boys.
"Oh—I—I dunno. Well—er—p'raps some other boat'll come over from the township d'reckly an'—an'——"
"And s'pose no boat comes along?"