Part 20 (1/2)

Suppose, years and years hence, I should meet Ruth and she should ask to tell my fortune as Gypsy women do--and she shouldn't know me----”

Helen began to sob again. She was working herself up into a highly nervous state and her imagination was ”running away with her,” as Ruth often said.

Just then she almost lost the punt-pole, and this near-accident startled her. She might need that pole yet--especially if the boat drifted into shallow water.

She looked all around. She stood up, so as to see farther. Not a moving object appeared along either sh.o.r.e of the lake. This was a veritable wilderness, and human habitations were far, far away.

She raised her eyes to the chain of hills over which she and her brother and Ruth had ridden the day before. At one point she could see the road itself, and just then there flashed into view an auto, traveling eastward at a fast clip.

”But, of course, they can't see _me_ 'way down here,” said Helen, shaking her head. ”They wouldn't notice such a speck on the lake.”

So she did not even try to signal to the motor-car, and it was quickly out of sight.

The current was now stronger, it seemed. The punt drifted straight down the lake toward the broad stream through which Long Lake was drained.

Helen hoped the boat would drift in near one sh.o.r.e, or the other, but it entered the stream as near the middle as though it had been aimed for that point!

Here the water gripped the heavy boat and drew it onward, swifter and swifter. At first Helen was not afraid. She saw the banks slipping by on either hand, and was now so far from the Gypsies, that she would have been glad to get ash.o.r.e. Yet she did not think herself in any increased danger.

Suddenly, however, an eddy gripped the boat. To her amazement the craft swung around swiftly and she was floating down stream, stern foremost!

”Oh, dear me! I wish I had a pair of oars. Then I could manage this thing,” she told herself.

Then the boat sc.r.a.ped upon a rock. The blow was a glancing one, but it drove the craft around again. She was glad, however, to see the bow aimed properly.

From moment to moment the boat now moved more swiftly. It seemed that the foam-streaked water tore at its sides as though desiring to swamp it. Helen sat very quietly in the middle seat, and watched the dimpling, eddying stream with increasing anxiety.

Suddenly the punt darted sh.o.r.eward. It looked just as though it must be cast upon the beach. Helen raised herself stiffly, seized the pole more firmly, and prepared to leap ash.o.r.e with its aid.

And just as she was about to risk the feat, the bow of the boat whirled outward again, she was almost cast into the water, and once more the boat whirled down the middle current.

She dropped back into her seat with a gasp. This was terrible! She could not possibly control the craft in the rapids, and she was traveling faster and faster.

The boat came to another eddy, and was whirled around and around, so swiftly, that Helen's poor head swam, too! She raised her voice in a cry for help, but it was likewise a cry of despair. She had no idea that there was a soul within the sound of her voice.

Cras.h.!.+ the boat went against an outcropping rock. It spun around again and darted down the current. It was leaking now; the water poured into it between the sprung planks.

The river widened suddenly into a great pool, fringed with trees. At one point a rock was out-thrust into the river and Helen saw--dimly enough at first--a figure spring into view upon this boulder.

”Help! help!” shrieked the girl, as the boat spun about.

”Hi! catch that!”

It was dear old Tom's voice! The shout brought hope to Helen's heart.

”Oh, Tom! Tom!” she cried. ”Save me!”

”Bet you I will!” returned the boy. ”Just grab this rope----Now!”

She saw the loop come hurtling through the air. Tom had learned how to properly throw a lariat the summer before, while in Montana, and he and his particular chums had practised the art a.s.siduously ever since that time.