"Yes," Mollie telegraphed back in the same tense whisper. "It's got its back to us, I think."
"Good," said Betty softly, adding as she threw all her weight against her oar, "now let's keep still and work."
It was queer how they referred to that presence at the head of the falls as "It." Some way, in the weird moonlight, under the more than unusual circumstances, it seemed almost impossible to give the thing a name.
"Was it Professor Dempsey?" they kept asking themselves over and over again. But he had committed suicide. Or at least they had seen him fall into the river, and they could have vowed that he did not come out again. They had searched both sides of the river. How could they have missed him? And yet, if that motionless figure at the head of the falls was really Professor Dempsey, he must have been washed ashore that day and evaded them as he had succeeded in evading them so many times before.
And all the time the roar of the falls was growing louder and louder in their ears and they knew that theirs was a race with life and death.
Could they succeed in reaching the opposite bank before the deadly current of the river should suck them over the falls, to almost certain annihilation?
The answer to the question came a moment: later when, without warning, the prow of the little boat struck on an unexpected projection of the shore and they came to a standstill.
"Thank heaven!" said Betty under her breath as Mollie jumped out and pulled the craft further in to shore. "That was nearly the riskiest thing you ever did, Betty Nelson."
Once on shore again, the girls' confidence returned and they hurried silently through the woods toward the spot where they had seen the figure. Then Betty, who had taken the lead, suddenly motioned to them to stop.
She had caught a glimpse through the trees of the man, who resembled more than ever a scarecrow in his crazy makeshift garments--and at the sight of him her heart unaccountably skipped a beat.