"Oh, he's all right. See him?"
The man pointed along the other shore of the river bank. Lute had crossed the bridge. She had now taken herself to some marshy grass stretches, and was grazing placidly.
Andy was about twenty feet from the shore. He could nearly make it by jumping from rock to rock, he thought. At one or two places, however, the current ran strong and deep, and he saw that he might have to do some swimming.
"See here," he called up to the man on the bridge, "have you got a rope?"
"Yes," nodded the man.
"Long enough to reach down here?"
"I guess so. Let's try. Wait a minute."
He went to his wagon. Shortly he dropped a new stout rope used in securing hay loads. It had length and to spare.
Andy tied the mail pouch to its end. Then he groped under water in the wagon box. He managed to fish out the various parcels it held, including the newspaper bag.
These he sent up first. Then the man at the other end braced the cable against a railing post. Andy came up the rope with agility.