"Give us a tow to that sand
spit yonder."
They reached the sand spit and staggered to land, while Harden and his
crew turned the Ida over and beached her. She had a six-inch gap in
her side.
"Well," panted Enoch, "I'm glad we managed to keep dry during the
rainstorm!"
"My Lord, Judge!" exclaimed Milton, "your own mother wouldn't own you
now! I don't see how one human being could carry so much mud on his
face!"
"I'll bet it's not as bad as yours at that," returned Enoch. "Jonas,
as long as it's not the Na-che that's hurt--"
"Coming, boss, coming!" cried Jonas. "Here's your moccasins and here's
your suit. Sure you aren't hurt any?"
"Jonas," replied Enoch in a low voice that the others might not hear,
"Jonas, I'm having the greatest time of my life!"
"So am I, Mr. Secretary! Honest, I'm so paralyzed afraid that I enjoy
it!" And Jonas hurried away to inspect the Ida.
It was so biting cold, now that the afternoon was late, that all the
wrecked crew changed clothing before attempting to make camp or unload
the Ida.
"How many miles have we made by this venture, Milton?" called Enoch, as
he pulled on his moccasins.
"One and a half!"
Enoch grinned, then he began to laugh. The others looked at him, then
joined him, and Homeric laughter echoed for a long minute above the
snarl of the water.
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