Without further loss of time, Jack started to retrace the way to the engine shops, though going by a different course from that which he had come.
He had got about half way there, and was passing near an old ruined mill, which stood more than half over the river, when he was startled by the sound of a voice, which was too familiar for him not to recognize.
“Don’t you dare come any nearer, Fret Offut! Stand back, or the worst will be your own!”
It was Jenny speaking, and as Jack dashed down to the side of the old mill he discovered her at the further extremity of the ruins defiantly facing young Offut, who was kept from approaching any nearer to her by a club she held in her hands, uplifted over her head.
Between the two was a gulf of dark waters a dozen feet or more in width, but spanned by a plank over which the girl had evidently passed in reaching her place of retreat.
“I’ll take up the plank so you can’t come back!” declared young Offut. “You see if you do not answer me in a becoming manner I can--”
Fret Offut did not have the opportunity to finish his sentence before a stout hand was laid on his shoulder and he was plunged headfirst into the river. “Get out the best you can!” cried Jack North.
He turned to the girl. “Has he dared so much as to lay a ringer on you, Jenny?”
“Oh, Jack! I am so glad to see you! No, he had not touched me, though I don’t know what he might have done if you had not come. You won’t let him drown?”
“It would serve him about right, if I did. But he will take care of himself. See, he is crawling out below the mill. Come with me, Jenny, for I have important news to tell you. I am going to South America!”