Ruth Fielding and the Gypsies | Page 3

worth
coming after, following some spring freshet--served the miller well
enough to transport his goods across the river.
Tim Lakeby's store, on the north shore of the river, was in sight of the

Red Mill. There were four sacks of flour to be transported, and already
Uncle Jabez had placed two of them in the bottom of the boat, upon a
clean tarpaulin.
"Ef we go down the river an' swamp, I shell lose this flour," grumbled
Uncle Jabez. "Drat that Ben! I tell ye, he'd ought to be hum by now."
Ben was the hired man, and if the miller had not really been kindlier
underneath than he appeared on the surface, Ben would never have
remained as long with him as he had!
Uncle Jabez balanced the weight in the boat with judgment. Although
there seemed to be no real danger, he knew very well the nature of the
treacherous current. Ruth slipped into the bow seat with her oar, and
Uncle Jabez took stroke.
The girl unknotted the painter, and the boat drifted out from the
landing.
"Now, set yer feet square, an' pull!" ejaculated her uncle, thrusting the
blade of his own oar beneath the rippling surface.
They were heavy ash oars--one was all the girl really could manage.
But she was not afraid of a little hard work, her muscles were supple,
and she had rowed one season in the first eight at Briarwood Hall, and
so considered herself something of an oarswoman.
The miller, by stretching to see over his shoulder, got the boat pointed
in the right direction. "Pull, now!" he commanded, and set a long,
forceful stroke for the girl to match. With the water slapping against the
high side of the craft, sometimes sprinkling them with spray, they
drove her forward for some minutes in silence.
The boat lumbered heavily, and it was true that Ruth had all she could
do to manage the oars. In some places, where the eddies tugged at the
blade, it seemed as though a submerged giant seized it and tried to twist
it from her grasp!

"I guess you air gittin' yer fill-up of it, Niece Ruth," growled the miller,
with a sound in his throat that might have been a chuckle. "Look out,
now! ye'll hev us over."
Ruth knew very well she had done nothing to give the boat that sudden
jerk. It was the current; but she had no breath with which to argue the
matter.
On and on they pulled, while the sinking sun gilded the little wavelets,
and bathed both river and the shores in golden glory. A homing bird
shrieked a shrill "good-night," as it passed above them, flying from
shore to shore.
Now the northern shore was nearer than the landing they had left. Only
occasionally Ruth turned her head, for she needed her full attention
upon the oar which she managed with such difficulty.
"We gotter p'int up-stream," growled Uncle Jabez, after wringing his
neck around again to spy out the landing near Lakeby's store. "Pesky
current's kerried us too fur down."
He gave a mighty pull to his own oar to rehead the boat. It was a
perilous move, and in a perilous place. Here the water ran, troubled and
white-capped, over a hidden reef.
"Oh! do be careful, Uncle!" cried Ruth.
"Pull!" yelled the old man, in return.
By chance he sunk his own oar-blade so deeply, that it rubbed against
the reef. It lifted Uncle Jabez from his seat, and unbalanced the boat.
Like a flash the heavy oar flew out of its socket, and the old man
sprawled on his back in the bottom of the boat. The latter whirled
around in the current, and before Ruth could scream, even, it crashed
broadside upon the rock!
The rotting planks of the boat could not stand such a blow. Ruth saw

the plank cave in, and the water followed. Down the boat settled upon
the submerged part of the rock--a hopeless wreck!
This was not the worst of the accident. In seeking to recover his seat,
Uncle Jabez went overboard, as the old boat tipped. He dove into the
shallow water, and struck his head heavily on the reef.
Blood-stained bubbles rose to the surface, and the old man struggled
only feebly to rise.
"He is hurt! he will be drowned!" gasped Ruth, and seeing him so
helpless, she sprang nimbly over the canted side of the boat and sought
to draw her uncle's head out of the water.
Although she was a good swimmer, and was not afraid of the water, the
current was so swift, and her own footing so unstable, it was doubtful if
Ruth Fielding could save both the miller and herself from the peril that
menaced them.
CHAPTER II
ROBERTO, THE GYPSY