That woman in the straw hat with the little bundle of imitation wheat straw across its right side, came to life and started on a fast run toward the place where Tom had plunged in, like she was going to splash in after him and try to get to the boat first, or else to stop him.
In almost less than no time Tom had hoisted his waterjug over the gunwhale and set it down into the boat at my feet, then he swung himself alongside and climbed in over the stern—which is the way to climb into a boat without upsetting it.
“Hurry!” Little Tom Till panted to me. “Let’s get across to the other side!”
I didn’t know what he was worried about nor what he wanted but I figured he would tell me as soon as he could—that is, if he wanted to. Besides I was in a hurry to get across myself.
I reached for the oars—and that’s when I got one of the most startling surprises of my life. There weren’t any oars in the boat—not even one! Not even a board to use for a paddle! All there was in the boat was a water jug with burlap bags wrapped around it, one very wet, red-haired, blue-jeaned, maroon-and-gray-T-shirted boy, and one dry one. And all the time our boat was drifting farther downstream toward the island.
In fact, right that very minute, the boat, which I had discovered was an aluminum boat painted red and was very light, was caught in the swift current where the creek divides and half of its current goes down one side of the island and the other half down the other. There wasn’t a thing we could do to stop ourselves from going one way or the other.
Swooshety-swirlety—swishety! Also hissety! Those half-angry waters took hold of our boat and away we went down the north channel, between the island and the shore.
We weren’t in any actual danger as far as the water was concerned, though, ’cause it was a safe boat. After awhile, we’d probably drift close enough to an overhanging willow or other tree and we could catch hold, swing ourselves out and climb to safety—or to the shore anyway.
BUT—say! We were in danger for another reason.