Mr. Cook leaped up the steps two at a time. “What happened?” he demanded.
Mr. Henderson shrugged. “Can’t tell for sure. All we know is he got himself a whack on the head an’ fell in the river.”
“Was he knocked out?”
“Colder’n a mackerel.”
“Then he could have drowned!” cried Sandy.
Mr. Henderson peered over at Sandy. “More’n likely,” he agreed.
“Who fished him out?” Mr. Cook wanted to know.
Mr. Henderson rubbed his jaw reflectively. “Now there was a lucky thing,” he said. “’Bout four o’clock I told Luke—that’s my hired man—to go down and check the calking on your boats. Seein’ as how they ain’t been in the water since last summer, I figured ’twould be a good idea to have a look at ’em. Well,” he continued, refusing to be hurried, “Luke gets down to the place where I keep the boats and all of a sudden he hears a kind of a yell and a splash. Being curious like, Luke decides to have a look-see at what fell in. So he saunters on down to the river and spots three fellers actin’ funny. They see him comin’ and start off the other way. Luke hollers but they keep right on goin’. Injuns, he thinks they were. Course, Luke’s gettin’ a bit old and his eyesight ain’t what it used to be, so it might not be Injuns after all. You never can tell about them things. I recollect once—it was in the summer of—”
“But what about Joe?” insisted Sandy impatiently.
Mr. Henderson shot him a reproachful glance. “I was just getting ’round to that. Seein’ them Injuns, or whatever it was, made Luke move a little faster and he gets down to the river just in time to see old Joe a-floating away.”