Part 13 (2/2)

Again they all bent to the task, and Amy and Grace combining their strength on the pole caused it to bend more than ever.

”Stop!” cried Betty, in some alarm. ”It will break, and I don't know where I can get another. We'd better try reversing the engine.”

She sat down in the cus.h.i.+oned c.o.c.kpit, an example followed by the others. They were breathing rather hard, and presently Betty went into the cabin and came out with some iced orangeade that had been put aboard in a vacuum bottle to retain its coolness.

”Here,” she invited, ”let's refresh ourselves a bit. I can see that we are going to have trouble.”

”Trouble?” queried Amy, looking at her chums.

”Yes. We aren't going to get off as easily as I thought.”

”Do you think we'll ever get off?” asked Grace.

”Of course we will,” declared Betty promptly.

”I'll never wade or swim ash.o.r.e--not with the river full of such nasty alligators!” announced Grace.

”Wait until you're asked,” cried Mollie. ”I'm sure we can get off when the motor is reversed.”

”The propeller seems to be in deep water,” spoke Betty, taking an observation over the stern. ”Come back here, girls, and sit down.”

”It's more comfortable here,” objected Grace, languidly. ”In fact, if it were not for the fact of being stranded I should like it here.” The c.o.c.kpit was covered by an awning which kept off the hot rays of the sun, and the cus.h.i.+ons, as Grace said, were very comfortable.

”But I want to get all the weight possible in the stern,” Betty insisted. ”That will raise the bow.”

Understanding what was required of them, the girls moved aft, and perched on the flat, broad deck, while Betty went to start the motor and slip in the reverse clutch.

The engine seemed a bit averse to starting at first, and, for a few seconds, Betty feared that it had suffered some damage. But suddenly it began to hum and throb, gaining in momentum quickly, as it was running free. Betty slowed it down at the throttle, and then, looking aft to see that all was clear, she slipped in the clutch that reversed the propeller.

There was a smother of foam under the stern of the _Gem_, which trembled and throbbed with the vibration. Betty turned on more power, until finally the maximum, under the circ.u.mstances, was reached.

”Are we moving?” she called, anxiously, to her chums.

”Not an inch!” answered Mollie, leaning over to look at the surface of the water. ”Not an inch.”

”We'll try it a little longer,” said Betty. ”Sometimes it takes a little while to pull loose from the sand.”

”Suppose some of us go up in the bow and push?” suggested Mollie. ”That may help some.”

”Perhaps; and yet I want to keep the bow as light as possible, so it won't settle down any more in the sand.”

”I'll go,” volunteered Mollie. ”One can't make much difference. And I am not so very heavy.”

”All right,” agreed Betty.

With one of the oars Mollie pushed hard down into the holding sand, while Betty kept the motor going at full speed, reversed.

But the _Gem_ seemed too fond of her new location to quit it speedily, and the girls, looking anxiously over the side, could see no change in their position.

<script>