“This means good-bye to our films!” sighed Blake.
“If not good-bye to ourselves,” echoed his chum.
There was little time left. With the one axe, and the camp hatchet, the men began chopping away at the trees on the summit of the hill, where the refugees had made their last stand against the rising waters. They could remain there but an hour longer, at most.
Blake and Joe carried their camera and waterproof packages of exposed film, to the dryest place they could find, in one of the tents.
“We can’t take any food with us, when we float down on the logs,” said Mr. Piper, sadly.
No one had the heart to answer him.
They were now gathered together in a space about fifty feet across, on the very summit of the hill. Several trees grew there, and, by climbing into them, it might be possible to remain above the rising water a little longer. But would even this respite save them? It did not seem possible.
The tree trunks had been felled, and were in readiness. They would make but poor life preservers at best, but better than nothing.
Inch by inch the water rose. Birdie Lee, Miss Shay and some of the other actresses were in a group, looking at each other with tear-stained faces. It seemed the end of everything.
Suddenly, through the moisture-laden air, came a shrill whistle.