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The gang had been working feverishly and without much order until Steve Whitney came on the scene. Bob was amazed at the change that seemed to take place as soon as his Chief had uttered a few incisive directions. The rescue work went on smoothly and efficiently. There was no panic, no blundering. “Hurt?” said the Indian. He was done, spent for the moment, but the will power which had driven him on and on roused him. He had done this much, he must do the rest even though every muscle in his body rebelled. He dragged the lifeless form of his friend entirely out of the water and managed to lay him face downward over a round rock, letting his head lie low. Then Bob flung himself on Jerry and tried with the weight of his own body to force the water out of the other’s lungs. Only a little success rewarded this maneuver. Next Bob let the other’s limp body roll off onto the ground and, sitting astride of it, worked his chum’s arms up and down to induce breathing. There was no response..

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Oh, if he were only at home! Oh, those wicked postmaster’s boys who had rowed away and left him! They should get their pay when—but suppose he should die now! “Our Father who art in heaven.” Johnny Blossom, with eyes closed, said the whole of the Lord’s Prayer as he lay on his stomach on the red buoy. Now surely God would help him. Even the builders of the dam often felt that intervention was the only way out of a bad situation. Bob was sure that this unsettled condition was responsible for Mr. Whitney’s being away from the work at a time when matters were in such a ticklish condition. So the two boys spent their Sunday apart. The canoe had belonged to one of the engineers who had left for another project, and the storekeeper who had bought it was willing to rent it out. Bob decided to go down stream the first day and take a look at the land which would be irrigated by the water stored up by the dam when it was finished. He took his lunch with him as he expected to make an all day trip of it. Gracious! how that boy had yelled! Well, a good pommeling was just what he deserved. It was rather a pity, though, that there had come a great split in his jacket and that his fishpole had got broken to bits in the fight. Even if it hadn’t ever been a good pole, it was wonderful how much he caught with it. He had to catch fish for his mother every single day. People said that at Tellef’s house they ate fish for breakfast, dinner, and supper, and that they had scarcely anything else to eat. Ugh! That must be tiresome! There was nothing so horrid when one came home from school very hungry, and shouted at the kitchen door “What are we going to have for dinner?” as to have Olea the cook say “Codfish.” And think! That was about all they had to eat down in Tellef’s shanty..