“I should say so,” came from Blake, as he recalled the danger of the night before.
Breakfast over, preparations were made for again moving down stream. The boys got the camera ready to take any scenes that might be worth filming, and Mr. Ringold and C. C. took charge of the boat.
As the lines were being cast off, there came rowing along the stream, close in to shore, so as to keep out of the strong current, a farmer in a skiff. He seemed somewhat surprised to see our friends, but hailed them, asking:
“I say, you folks ain’t seen nothin’ of a spotted cow critter around here; have you?”
“A cow? No,” answered Blake. “We saw one floating down in a barn a day or so ago. Was she yours?”
“No, my barn’s still on land, but my spotted cow critter is missin’ and I thought maybe you folks might have seen her.”
“She’d have to be swimming if she was around here,” remarked Joe, looking at the waste of water.
“Yes, I reckon so,” agreed the farmer. “She jest naturally likes to wander off, that spotted cow critter of mine does. I guess she’ll be drowned some day. Well, I’ll look a little farther, and then I’ll git back. Water’s gittin’ higher all the while. Where you folks bound for?”
“No place in particular,” Blake informed him. “We’re looking for some friends of ours.”
“There’s been a good many lost in this flood,” the farmer said. “I had two hens and a rooster drowned in the last flood. I lived on low ground then. I’ve moved back a piece since. I’m hopin’ the water don’t come up to me now.”