“I’m giving her all the gas she can take,” murmured Mr. Ringold, as he advanced the throttle to its limit, and set the spark timer at its most advantageous position. “She can’t do any more!”
Blake and Joe stood ready to do all possible, but it was not much. They had to depend on the motor. And that machine made good. The propeller, beating the muddy water to foam, slowly shoved the craft ahead, and to one side, until, finally, the pull of the cross-current was lessened. Then, gathering speed, the boat made her way into the main channel.
“Safe—for a while at least!” cried Mr. Ringold.
The danger to which they had been exposed rather unnerved them for the time being. All that afternoon they kept on down the great river, the boys taking occasional pictures. The rain still held off, for which they were very thankful.
“And now we’d better look for a good place at which to tie up for the night,” remarked Mr. Ringold, when preparations for supper were under way.
“That looks like a good place, just around that bend,” spoke Blake, pointing to it.
“We’ll make for it,” decided the manager.
As they went along they found that the bend was caused by a “cut-off” having made a new channel for itself, to the left of the main stream. This “cut-off” was larger and deeper than any they had yet encountered. It was bringing down a mass of debris, too, and some care had to be used in navigating near it.
“That will do for a place to spend the night,” decided Mr. Ringold, as he shifted his course slightly. They were behind a wooded point, and, as they rounded it, the two boys uttered cries of astonishment.
For, coming straight toward them, was a small house, turned completely upside down in the water.