“We’ll tie up to that big tree over there,” said Mr. Ringold, pointing to a large oak that overhung the water. “I think that will stand, even though the waters rise higher.”
“Tie with a long rope,” advised Mr. Piper. “The river may rise suddenly in the night, and if we are held fast by a short cable, and can’t rise with the ‘tide,’ we’ll sink.”
“I’ll look out for that,” promised the manager. “But I think the river is not rising so fast now. We can tell when we get near shore.”
“It looks like more rain,” remarked Joe, with a glance at the sky. “You wouldn’t think there could be so much water; would you?”
“Hardly,” agreed Blake.
The work of making the boat fast was soon finished. Certainly the oak tree to which they tied seemed, with its great trunk, and spread of roots, strong enough to withstand many a flood.
“And now for supper!” cried Joe, it being his turn to prepare the evening meal. The gasoline stove was started, and soon the appetizing odor of ham and eggs floated over the flood waters, for our friends had purchased a supply at the last village where they had stopped to make inquiries.
“I only hope Birdie Lee, and the rest of ’em, are having as good a meal as this,” murmured Blake, as he passed his plate for a second helping. “I’d give a good deal to know where they are now, and be able to help them.”
“I think we all would,” came from Mr. Ringold, and he spoke rather solemnly. “It’s strange we can’t get any word of them,” he went on. “At the next town we make, if they have any telegraph service, I am going to wire my New York office, and ask if any word has been received there. Levinberg probably knows I’d be anxious about them, after hearing of the flood, and he might think to wire me.”
“Pretty bad telegraph service, all along the river now, I guess,” commented Mr. Piper.