CHAPTER V
FRIENDS IN TIME OF NEED
There was really nothing that could be done.
In a choice between two evils, Bob Armstrong could always be depended on to take that which seemed the less. To go on down the flood was a dreadful outlook; and almost anything was to be preferred to facing the unknown perils of the river, especially in the pitch darkness that prevailed.
The sound of the paddles drew constantly nearer. Then they heard voices, as if those in the canoe were asking each other whence it could be that they had heard that last shout for help.
To the astonishment of the floating boys the words came in English, though evidently one of the speakers was an Indian who had apparently learned the tongue of the palefaces.
“Oh! it’s Pat O’Mara, I do believe!” exclaimed Sandy, in his amazement speaking loud enough for his voice to carry some distance away; for immediately, even before Bob could add any words of his own to the declaration, there came a hail out of the gloom.
“Avast there! Be ye the Arrmstrong byes I’m afther hearin’ out on this roarin’, tearin’ flood this night?”
“Yes, yes, that’s who it is, Pat; and precious glad to hear the sound of your voice, because we need help the worst way!” cried Sandy, always impulsive.