CHAPTER XVII
THE RISING FLOOD
There was the briefest of exchanges of greetings between the friends thus unexpectedly reunited.
“What on earth are you two doing here?” Sam demanded. “Haven’t you any notion of the worry you’ve made for everybody?”
“Huh! Mind where you’re going!” the Shark cautioned. “Hole in the floor. We broke through. Rest of it’ll hold, I guess, but I wouldn’t stamp hard.”
Sam checked his advance in time. He glanced curiously at the fractured boards, at which the Shark pointed.
“Fell through, did you? Well, it looks as if you did. But I say! What did you crawl in here for, anyway?”
Before the Shark could answer, Lon spoke. He had remained at the window, and was studying as best he might the swift tide pouring down the valley.
“Boys, one o’ them dams up-river must ’a’ gone out! That was the first wave of the rush that ’most caught us. There’s a lot o’ water still comin’ along, but ’tain’t quite’s high as ’twas. And so, lookin’ at things by and large, I guess it was mighty lucky that we happened in jest as we did. If nothin’ more gives way up above, we ain’t likely to be any wuss off than we are now; and when things get kind o’ drained off, as you might say, we can toddle on. Meanwhile”—here he turned and glanced at the fire—“meanwhile, that heatin’ contraption looks amazin’ good to me.”
Varley threw on some more wood. Sam and Orkney, and then Lon, gingerly skirted the hole in the floor and took their places at the edge of the hearth. Lon stripped off his dripping rubber coat; Sam and Orkney followed the example. The Shark watched these proceedings with a certain grim approval, but suddenly his brow clouded.
“See here, you fellows! You were hunting for us, as if you thought we were lost?”