Before them was a dashing, tumbling stream, eddying and foaming past the grim-looking rocks, which for countless ages had disputed its passage in vain. Dancing drops sparkled like silver in the sunshine, currents swirled and bubbled, as the ever-rushing torrent gurgled forth its musical lament.
"Oh, ho, what a lovely sight," exclaimed Dave Brandon. "Look at those trees bending over, the reflection in the water and that mass of pink dogwood."
"Pretty enough, Chubby," admitted Dick, "but I'm thirsty as thunder."
"You can get a drink a bit further along," said Havens. "We have to get across, anyway."
"Get across?" echoed Dick.
"Sure thing. The dugout's on the other side."
"Then I suppose I'll have the joy of helping to fish somebody out of the stream," said Dave. "Hello, did I hear anything?"
A low growl seemed to come from the opposite bank.
"What in the world is that?" cried Dick, in a startled tone.
"I see it," exclaimed Bob Somers, excitedly. "Some kind of an animal. Look! It's on that limb. Great Cæsar! What a whopper!"