“Yes, but think of the plight they must be in—floating down this river in some house, that may go to pieces any minute!” cried Blake. “It’s terrible—for Birdie and the others. The men may be able to stand it. But the ladies——”
“Well, perhaps they are rescued by this time,” said Joe, cheerfully. “That message was dated several days ago, you notice. And it must have been two or three days afloat. I have a feeling, somehow, that we’ll find them all right.”
“Well, I sure do hope so,” spoke Blake. “Pshaw! I oughn’t to be this way!” he exclaimed. “I must look on the brighter side. Perhaps they are all right, after all.”
They ate supper in the enclosed cabin, for there was a cold drizzle of rain that made going outside unpleasant. No one felt much like talking, but the unexpected news had, in a measure, cheered them up.
“If they could only have given us some definite clew,” spoke Mr. Ringold. “I’d do anything I could to rescue them. But it is like searching in the dark.”
“And, speaking of the dark, reminds me that it will soon be dark here, and we’ll have to look for some place to tie up,” remarked Blake. “I think we’d better be getting over toward shore.”
“And I agree with you,” said Mr. Ringold.
He took the wheel, relieving Joe, who had not yet eaten. The craft was directed over toward the eastern shore, and a sharp lookout was kept for some sheltered cove where the night could be spent.
It grew darker rapidly, and the rain increased in violence.
“There’s a lot of stuff coming down,” observed Blake, as he stood at the wheel, beside Mr. Ringold. “More debris than we’ve seen in some time.”