CHAPTER XXIII
THE RISING WATERS
“It is rising, Roger,” admitted the older boy, seriously, as he surveyed the tumbling waters, rushing along with a noise like the churning of a score of grist mills, such as the one near the St. Louis settlement.
“Do you think it will keep on increasing all day, Dick?” asked the other, with a ring of alarm in his voice.
“It may,” was the reply. “That will depend on how far up the river that heavy rainfall extended. If it covered the whole watershed, then the river here must keep on getting bigger for a good many hours before it reaches a crest.”
“But we never knew the Missouri to rise at this late time in the summer, did we, Dick?”
“Not anything like this, that’s sure, Roger. Of course, after a heavy storm it always creeps up. But this is really a flood, and will bother the exploring expedition for a day or two, I think.”
“Oh, but they have boats, and will think little or nothing of it, Dick,” the younger boy went on. “But what a bad fix it finds us in! What if the water does keep on coming up and up all day; won’t it cover this little island and perhaps wash it away?”
“Oh! hardly that,” Dick hastened to answer. “It has stood many floods in the spring time, because these trees have had a chance to grow.”
“But even if that rushing water only covers the island, where will we be then, I’d like to know? Ugh! it makes me shiver to think of it,” and Roger turned to look once more at the roaring river.