be here.”
As the three watched, the swift current caught the craft and swung it slightly to the left.
“It’s holding by a breath and a prayer,” Dan said. “Any minute it will float away and that may be the last we’ll ever see of it.”
“Couldn’t we wade out and bring the boat in?” proposed Brad. “The current is swift, but the water shouldn’t be too deep here close to shore.”
“It’s over your head and mine part of the way, Brad. And neither of us classifies as an expert swimmer.”
“But I do,” spoke up Dan. Then he corrected himself: “I don’t mean to hold myself out as an expert, but I’m considered pretty good at the Y. Mr. Hatfield, I could take off my shoes and wade out there. I wouldn’t have to swim except the last few yards.”
“It’s too dangerous, Dan. The current is treacherously swift. It might sweep you past the boat and on down river.”
“But if I don’t try, we’ll lose the boat,” Dan argued. “And the Indian feather headdress! The Cubs were counting on it to win the Pack handicraft exhibition.”
“Mr. Holloway’s boat is worth considerable money,” Brad added, swinging toward support of Dan’s plea. “If only we could get it now before it’s damaged—”
“I know I could swim out there,” Dan argued. “At the Y I’ve done three times that distance without even tiring.”
“But not in a swift current, Dan,” the Cub leader said.
“I’ll be swimming downstream, not against the current, Mr. Hatfield. Please let me try.”
“Dan, it’s too risky. If I could swim worth a cent myself—”
“You can’t,” said Dan. “That’s why you’re afraid to let me try. I know my own strength in the water. I can do it easily.”
Mr. Hatfield smiled and stood a moment studying the current which eddied about the half-submerged bush and the boat.
“I believe there’s a rope in the back of the car,” he said finally. “If it’s long enough we may be able to do something.”
Fetching the rope, he coiled it carefully and tested its length by tossing it far out into the river. It fell only a few feet short of the boat.
“My throw was weak,” the Cub leader said. “The rope actually is long enough to reach. Dan, you’re dead sure you want to try this?”
“Rarin’ to go!”
“Then strip to your shorts. You’ll need freedom of movement.”
Dan eagerly pulled off his shoes and divested himself of his outer garments. Carefully the Cub leader then tied the rope about his waist and tested the knot to make certain it would hold.
“Wade out as far as you can into the river,” he instructed the boy. “When you have to, swim. If you can’t make it, Brad and I will pull you in fast.”
“I’ll make it,” Dan said grimly.
Brad and the Cub leader removed their own shoes and socks, rolled up their trousers, and waded out a short distance into the flood.
“Now be careful,” Mr. Hatfield warned as Dan prepared to start on alone. “If you find yourself in trouble, signal with a quick tug of the rope.”
“I’ll be all right,” the boy replied confidently.
While Mr. Hatfield and Brad held one end of the rope, he waded on alone, picking his way cautiously. The muddy water washed to his knees, then to his waist, and finally came to shoulder depth.
The next moment the swift current swept him from his feet. Dan began to stroke smoothly only to discover that the river was carrying him downstream much too fast. Unless he exerted every ounce of his strength, he would be carried beyond his goal.
Dan dug in. His arms dipped and swept downward to his sides in powerful drives. His legs, churning in the steady six-beat crawl, gave him added propulsion.
The bush and the lodge boat loomed directly ahead. But the current, bent on carrying him with it, seemed to take on perverse strength. Despite his best efforts, he saw that he would be carried past his goal.
“Swim, Dan!” Mr. Hatfield shouted. “Swim hard!”
Dan heard and made a supreme effort. Though his breath was coming hard, his muscles offering painful complaint, he deliberately forced himself into a faster rhythm. The current swung him, but as he passed the bush, the boy lunged for it.
Achieving a handhold, he clung fast. The river swung his feet from beneath him, tugging and jerking. But still Dan held on as he struggled to regain his breath.
“The boat, Dan!” he heard Brad shout. “Get it quick! It’s drifting away!”
The boy’s weight on the bush had dislodged the craft, which now was moving slowly off down river.
With an indignant snort, Dan plunged downstream in pursuit. Two strokes enabled him to grasp the craft by its trailing painter.
But the next instant, both he and the boat were brought up with a hard jerk. A sharp pain shot through his waist where the rope had been tied.
“Hold fast to the boat!” Mr. Hatfield instructed. “We’ll pull you in.”
Against the current, the Cub leader and Brad slowly pulled hand over hand until Dan was in shallow, quiet water. There he was able to get to his feet and drag the boat to shore.
“Good work, Dan!” Mr. Hatfield praised, reaching out to help him. “For a minute I thought you were going to be swept past the bush.”
“So did I,” grinned Dan. “Lucky you insisted I tie that rope around my waist. Otherwise, I’d have had a hard time of it.”
“How about the Indian headdress?” Brad demanded. “Is it safe in the boat?”
Mr. Hatfield turned the beam of his flashlight on the craft’s seat. The feather piece lay exactly where Chips had dropped it, undamaged by water.
“The Cubs will be glad to hear this,” Brad said in relief, retrieving the handicraft article. “We’re mighty lucky tonight.”
Dan untied the rope from his waist and began to put on his clothes. Brad and Mr. Hatfield debated what to do with the boat now that it had been recovered.
“It’s too large to be taken into the car,” the Cub leader decided. “I guess the best we can do tonight is to hide it in the weeds well back from the river’s edge.”
While Dan finished dressing, he and Brad carried the craft far back from the rising water, overturning it in a patch of high grass.
“I’ll come for it in a trailer the first thing tomorrow,” Mr. Hatfield said. “During the next few hours, the river shouldn’t rise much higher.”
Feeling
