The blank amazement and fear on the faces of the two lads was a study for an artist. Before them was the living verification of the mysterious warning. There was no mistaking that ruddy countenance.
The stranger spoke first.
"You're just the lads I'm looking for. Your friends are lying in yonder mill. They went over the dam in their canoes this morning at daybreak.
"I happened to see them and saved their lives. They were pretty near drowned, but I managed to bring them around all right. They ain't able to walk yet, so they asked me to go up the creek and hunt you fellows. Come right along and I'll take you to them."
Was Mr. Dude Moxley's brain muddled that he should have inserted such a gross error in his otherwise plausible little story? Perhaps he did not have time to plan it thoroughly in his hasty advance from the mill, or had calculated on finding his new victims at any other place than this.
Frightened as the boys were they noted the discrepancy, and it opened their eyes to the seriousness of the situation. "If our friends went over the dam this morning," asked Clay with a touch of scorn, pointing to the canoes and the tent, "how do these come to be here?"