“Guess she’s all right,” said Artie. “I prefer another seat though.”
He was looking about for a place to sit down when he happened to glance down to the lake. To his surprise Westy was sitting in the boat his body turning and wriggling; he seemed to be intent upon some physical effort.
“Are you eating all the muffins?” Artie called.
“No, but my foot’s caught under this plaguy stern seat,” Westy called; “it’s like a blamed old woodchuck trap.”
“Turn it sideways,” Artie laughed.
“I did, also endways and upside down,” Westy answered. “It’s a puzzle. I’ll manage it.”
As Artie moved his position for the better enjoyment of Westy’s predicament he saw that the rock which he and Uncle Jeb had wedged up was directly above the rowboat. He shuddered at this thought, but the rock seemed secure so he indulged himself in the pleasure of a few humorous taunts and bits of mirthful advice to the writhing captive. Then, suddenly, there was a crash, one of the logs went rolling down the hillside while the rock, still poised, trembled visibly. Then it moved ominously and some earth and small stones went out from beneath it, rolling away. It seemed to Artie that if he touched it or even breathed upon it, it would go crashing down to the lake. He held his breath, every nerve on edge....
CHAPTER V—IT SHALL NOT PASS
“Loose the boat and push off if you can’t get your foot out,” Uncle Jeb called; “there’s a rock⸺”
“I can’t reach the rope,” Westy shouted, not knowing his danger.