the scow lined, edging slowly along as if drawn by some counter-current.
In a few minutes the craft had worked its way into a cut-off from the creek. It floated slowly in among a swampy wilderness of reeds and stunted trees, came to halt at a shallow, and there remained stationary.
"Why, this is worse than being in the creek," ruminated Ralph, with some concern. "There was a chance of hailing some one there sooner or later, but in this isolated spot I stand the risk of starving to death."
The young fireman was both hungry and thirsty. He made another desperate attempt to force the scuttle, but found it an utter impossibility. Then he took out his pocket knife. There was one last chance of escape in sight. If he could cut the wood away around the bolt of the scuttle cover, he might force it open.
Ralph could not work to any advantage, for the top of the hold was fully a foot above his head. However, patiently and hopefully he began his task. Bit by bit, the splinters and shavings of wood dropped about him.
"Too bad, that ends it," he exclaimed suddenly, as there was a sharp snap and the knife blade broke in two.
The situation was now a very serious one
