Sandy’s voice choked. He reached out and gripped Dick by the arm. His lips were blue from fright and cold.
“It was Henderson!” he whispered.
Perceiving that something was wrong, Malemute Slade and Corporal Richardson hurried over.
“The boy’s sick!” exclaimed Slade. He turned his head: “MacClaren, fetch a blanket. Hurry!”
A moment later they were chafing his limbs, and had wrapped him up in heavy folds of the thick, woollen blanket.
“You boys ought to know better than this,” Corporal Richardson scolded them. “Thunder River is a glacier-fed stream and its water is like ice. Don’t go swimming in it again. No wonder Sandy got cramps.”
“He didn’t,” Dick protested. “He’s frightened. He said that he saw the body of a man floating past. He thinks it was Henderson.”
“Bosh!” declared the policeman, pointing over at the river. “The current is full of driftwood. A water-logged stump a short distance away might easily be mistaken for the body of a man. What Sandy thought he saw and what he actually saw—are two different things. Besides, Sandy is nervous and unstrung as a result of his experiences over at the mine.”
“I did see it, I tell you!”
“There! There!” soothed Factor MacClaren. “You’ll be all right in a moment. Please forget about it. We’re having breakfast now, Sandy. Toma is pouring the coffee this very minute.”