“I’ll ask him,” said Jack. “He’ll tell us where we are.”
The individual—evidently a fisherman, as indicated by his unjointed pole and a basket—stopped in some surprise as he saw the big motor boat so close to shore, with lights gleaming and the powerful beams of the one on the cabin roof setting him out in bold relief in its glare.
“How far to Riverhead, if you please?” called Jack, sliding back one of the cabin windows.
“Riverhead?” cried the man, and surprise was plain in his voice. “Why, Riverhead’s over on the Chelton side, about ten miles from here.”
“On the Chelton side!” repeated Jack. “Isn’t this the Chelton?”
“No. This is Batter Creek,” the man explained. “The Chelton river branches off to the right, six miles down. You must have taken the left turn where Batter Creek runs into it. First you know you’ll be up in the swamp.”
“Good-night!” cried Jack, with a tragic gesture.
“On Batter Creek!” echoed Walter.
“Ten miles from Riverhead!” was Cora’s gasping remark.
“No wonder the poor boat ran ashore,” commented Bess. “She’d rather do that than get lost in a swamp.”