They had scarcely finished, however, before a messenger came up from the river on the run.
"Where's the folks that own that there motor boat?" he demanded, "the folks that helped Colonel Whitmore last night?"
"Here we are!" called Blake.
"What's the trouble?" Joe wanted to know, for the messenger appeared excited.
"You'd better get your craft out of the way," went on the man. "The river's started to rise suddenly, and she may be damaged where she is."
"We'll get right down to her," exclaimed Mr. Ringold, and, paying their bill, they hastened to the dock. They found the Clytie pulling and straining at her mooring ropes, for the river had indeed risen and the cables were taut, caused by the elevation of the boat at the dock.
"All aboard!" called Mr. Ringold, and soon they were under way again. There was no need of their assistance at the levee, for all possible was being done by the town inhabitants, and those on the elevated bank of dirt and stones waved a farewell to our friends, as they went on down the raging river.
