“Stacy, get the paddle,” directed Tom.
The fat boy obeyed without protest, which was rather unusual for him.
“Me savvy plenty piecee fun,” chattered Woo as they ran.
“If I am a prophet, you will be savvying something besides fun before we have done with this affair,” observed Elfreda Briggs soberly. “This is only the beginning.”
Stacy arrived with the paddle about the time that Hippy and Tom reached the dugout. The two men turned the boat over and shoved it out.
“You girls remain on shore,” ordered Hippy. “The boat will not hold more and give us room to work. Stacy, you sit still. Don’t you dare rock the boat.”
The lake was still rough and Hippy found it hard work to handle the dugout, but after throwing off his coat and shifting his passengers to better balance the dugout, he made better headway, finally reaching the bobbing log.
“Stacy is right. The log is anchored,” exclaimed Tom. “What can that mean?”
“We are going to find out right smart, Captain,” answered Hippy. “Do you see? The thing is anchored with a chain about its middle, and from rings, bolted to the ends, ropes lead down into the lake. That must mean that something is at the other end of the ropes. Tom, you ballast the other end of the dugout while Stacy and I pull on the rope at this end. We will try not to upset you. For myself, I have had one ducking to-day and that is quite sufficient. Stacy has one coming to him. All right, Chunky, heave away.”
They hauled on the rope with all the strength they dared exert, for to pull with too strong a hand meant a ducking in the cold waters of the lake.