Raftmates | Page 7

his. Then with
bowed heads the two pushed steadily on towards the river-bank, while
the wind scattered bits of their merry laughter far and wide.
It took them but a few minutes to reach the little stream, when their

laughter was suddenly silenced. There was the place where the Venture
had been put together, there was the tree to which it had been so
securely moored; but the raft that had grown into being and become a
familiar sight at that point no longer occupied it, nor was it anywhere to
be seen. Only a flood of turbid waters, fully two feet higher than they
had been the evening before, swept over the spot, and seemed to
beckon mockingly towards the great river.
"Why, the raft has gone!" exclaimed Elta, in a dismayed voice.
[Illustration: "'Why, the raft has gone!' exclaimed Elta"]
"It certainly has," answered the Major, grimly; "and as it cannot
possibly have floated up-stream, it must have gone towards the
Mississippi. I only hope that Winn managed in some way to check and
hold it before it reached the big water; otherwise we may have a merry
hunt for it."
While he spoke they had been hurrying to a point a short distance
down-stream, around which the creek made a bend. From here they
could command a view of half a mile of its course, and somewhere
along this stretch of water they hoped to see the raft safely moored.
They were, however, doomed to disappointment; for as far as the eye
could see there was no sign of the missing craft. Full of conjectures and
forebodings of evil they reluctantly turned back towards the house.
The mill-hands, some of whom were to have formed the crew of the
Venture, had already discovered that it was gone. Now they were
gathered at the house awaiting the Major's orders, and eagerly
discussing the situation.
Mrs. Caspar, full of anxiety, met her husband and daughter at the open
door, where she stood, regardless of the driving rain.
"Oh, John!" she cried, "where is Winn? What has become of the raft?
Do you think anything can have happened to him?"
"Certainly not," answered the Major, reassuringly. "Nothing serious

can have befallen the boy on board a craft like that. As to his
whereabouts, I propose to go down to the mouth of the creek at once
and discover them. That is, just as soon as you can give me a cup of
coffee and a bite of breakfast, for it would be foolish to start off without
those. But the quicker we can get ready the better. I shall go in the skiff,
and take Halma and Jan with me."
Nothing so allays anxiety as the necessity for immediate action,
especially when such action is directed towards removing the cause for
alarm. So Mrs. Caspar and Elta, in flying about to prepare breakfast for
the rescuing party, almost worked themselves into a state of hopeful
cheerfulness. It was only after the meal had been hastily eaten, and the
Major with his stalwart Swedes had departed, that a reaction came, and
the anxious fears reasserted themselves. For hours they could do
nothing but discuss the situation, and watch for some one to come with
news. Several times during the morning Elta put on her water-proof and
went down to the mill. There, she would gaze with troubled eyes at the
ever-rising waters, until reminded that her mother needed comforting,
when she would return to the house.
On one of these occasions the girl was surprised to see a saddle-horse,
bearing evidences of a hard journey, standing at the hitching-post near
the front door. But this first surprise was as nothing to the amazement
with which she beheld her mother clasped in the arms of a strange
young man who was so bespattered with mud that his features were
hardly recognizable. Mrs. Caspar was laughing and crying at the same
time, while both she and the young man were talking at once. Near
them, and regarding this tableau with the utmost gravity, was a
powerful-looking bull-dog, who would evidently be pure white when
washed.
For a full minute Elta stood in the doorway gazing wonderingly at this
strange scene. Then her mother caught sight of the girl's wide-eyed
bewilderment, and burst into a fit of laughter that was almost
hysterical.
"It's your uncle William!" she cried, as soon as she could command her
voice. "My little brother Billy, whom I haven't seen for twelve years,

and he has just come from California. Give him a kiss, dear, and tell
him how very glad we are to see him."
Then Elta was in turn embraced by the mud-bespattered young man,
who gravely announced that he should never have recognized her.
"No wonder, for she was only