obstructing their vision. The two at the wheel saw a small barn,
swirling around in the water. It was upright, and was directly in their
path.

With a quick spin of the wheel Joe turned the rudder, and the _Clytie_
glided past the barn, her rub-streak fairly grazing the structure. The
barn had been hidden from view by a large tree which had drifted down
with it, and the sudden separation of the foliage and the farm
structure, revealed the latter to Blake just in time.

Then, as the motor boat swept on, there came from the interior of the
barn a loud:

"Moo!"

At the same moment a cow stuck her head out of a small window, and
looked piteously at the rescuers.

"Too bad! We can't do anything for you, old cow!" cried Blake. "I guess
you're done for, unless your barn floats to shore. I wish we had room
for you," he went on, whimsically, "for we could use fresh milk very
nicely." They had been obliged to put up with the condensed variety thus
far.

The barn swept on down stream, turning around and around, as the boat
went past it, the cow's head appearing at each turn, thrust through the
window.

With a small moving picture camera, Blake got a few views of this odd
scene, to add to the others already taken.

They decided to tie up for the night just above a small town, that was
far enough from the banks of the Mississippi to have escaped the flood,
thus far. But the inhabitants were in constant fear, and all available
men were at work strengthening the levee.

Our friends managed to purchase a few supplies, and they got some fresh
milk, which luxury Charlie had missed very much, for he was accustomed
to drinking it.

The little boy was quite fretful after supper, and cried for his lost
home and parents. But Blake induced him to listen to some fairy stories,
and finally Charlie House fell asleep, and was put in his bunk.

"Poor little chap," murmured Blake, as he tucked the child in snugly.
"Poor little chap!" And then Blake thought of Birdie Lee, and the others
of the lost theatrical party.

"If you boys will stay here with the boat, Mr. Piper and I will go to
town and see if there is any answer to the telegram I sent this morning,
from the upper village," said Mr. Ringold, when dusk had fallen. He had
taken this method, instead of waiting for an answer to his wire. A
message had been sent to the New York office, asking if any news had
been received of the missing ones, and a request was made that any reply
might be sent to Canton, which was the village above which they were now
tied up.

"Sure, we'll stay here," agreed Joe. "And I hope you get some word."

But it was a vain hope, there being no reply to the message of inquiry.

"The river is slowly rising," remarked Mr. Piper, with something of a
return of his former gloomy manner. "It's going up about an inch and a
half an hour. The townspeople are afraid it will break the levee, which
is only a temporary one."

"I wouldn't want to live out in this country," commented Blake. "This
flood is likely to occur every year."

"Oh, I guess they're used to it, somewhat," spoke Mr. Ringold. "But this
is the worst they ever had. I'm really alarmed for our friends."

"I've been alarmed all along," went on C. C. "That is, of course there
may be a chance for them," he said, quickly, for he had made up his
mind, at least while on this voyage, to try to look on the bright side
of things.

"I sincerely hope there will be a chance," murmured Mr. Ringold. "I
would feel very badly, indeed, if I thought they were lost while making
pictures for me."

For some time that evening the rescuers sat about in the small cabin,
talking over the situation. For some reason, though no one could account
for it, there was a feeling of gloom in the hearts of all. Perhaps the
fact that no word had come from New York induced it. But, certain it is,
that no one felt very cheerful.

They were moored near shore, and just above where the temporary levee,
to protect the village, began. Below, above, and in front of them,
swirled the dreary waste of waters. The Mississippi had spread itself
out to more than twice its usual width, and had inundated much valuable
land. It had washed away many houses and farm buildings, and many towns
and cities were partly under the flood.

And there was no certainty that the storm was over. True, the skies
brightened now and then, but, as night fell, the heavens were overcast
once more, and the wind, shifting, seemed to promise more downpours.

"I guess I'll put double water-proof wrappings on the films, to-night,"
said Joe, just before he prepared for bed. "I certainly wouldn't want
anything to happen to them now."

Blake aided him in the work, and the boxes of exposed films were made as
secure as possible against dampness and water.

In the middle of the night Blake awoke. He heard a curious roaring,
throbbing noise on the deck over his head.

"What's that?" he asked, speaking aloud, involuntarily.

"More rain," answered Joe, in a low voice. He, too, had been awakened.

The storm had started again, and the drops were pelting down on the
afflicted land.

"This will make the river still higher," went on Blake. "I wish we were
out of this--and had the missing ones, and Charlie's folks, safe."

"So do I," answered Joe. "My! but I'm sick of the sound of rain!"

The little boy, in the bunk near Blake, awakened, either from hearing
the talk, or from the noise of the storm.

"I'm hungry! I want my mamma!" he called.

"I'll get you something to eat," said Blake, kindly, "and maybe mamma
will come in the morning."

He got up, and made some cracker and jam sandwiches for Charlie, who
munched them contentedly, and went to sleep again.

Blake then opened the cabin door, and looked out.

"How is it?" asked Joe.

"Pretty fierce!" murmured Blake, as he crept back to his bunk. "Pretty
fierce. It's a raging torrent out there."

Morning brought no cessation of the rain, though it was not coming down
quite so hard after the dreary dawn broke. As our friends sat down to
breakfast, they could see the alarmed villagers working frantically at
the levee. For the rising waters were already lapping the top of it.

Long lines of men, carrying bags and baskets of dirt and stones, piled
them along the bank--the frail bank that alone stood between the flood
and their homes! The boys took some pictures of the work, and then,
casting off the mooring line, the trip down the river was resumed.

Although it rained, Blake and Joe were not idle. They knew that many
pictures were needed, and they set to work to get them, though they
would not be as good as those made in clear weather.

After dinner, rounding a bend in the stream, they came in sight of a
town the greater part of which was under water, and, as they steered
toward it, Mr. Ringold having said they would make a stop, Joe cried
out:

"Look! There's a house on fire!"

"So there is!" shouted Blake. "Fire and flood together! It couldn't be
much worse!"

Those on the boat looked with awe, and feelings of deep sorrow, on the
unhappy scene. The fire seemed gaining headway, in spite of the rain,
and, as they approached, a second house caught from the first, the black
smoke rolling skyward.

"Put over there!" cried Mr. Ringold to C. C., who was steering. "Maybe
we can help them--or rescue someone! Put over!"

                               CHAPTER XV

                            A HAPPY MEETING

Fanned by a strong wind, the flames gained headway rapidly, and soon
both houses were wrapped in fire, while over them hung a black pall of
smoke. The dwellings were close together, and it seemed likely that more
would catch, as there was no possibility of using the fire engines, if
so small a town possessed them.

For the streets of the village were three feet or more under water, and
the curious sight was presented of houses surrounded by a flood being
destroyed by fire.

"The stoves must have upset, or something like that, to cause the fire!"
cried Blake, as the motor boat was steered toward the blazing dwellings.

"They're beginning the work of rescue now," called Mr. Ringold. "See,
they're coming in boats."

A number of small craft, containing several men, who had evidently been
engaged in either rescue or salvage work, in another part of the town,
came rowing along the inundated streets toward the scene of the fire.

"Look!" shouted C. C. "Someone just jumped from one of the windows then!
And there goes another!"

They all looked in time to see a body plunge downward into the water,
and one of the boats swerved toward it. Those aboard the _Clytie_ saw, a
moment later, a woman pulled from the flood, and taken into the small
boat.

At the same moment another body shot from a window of the first burning
house, and this person, too, was rescued.

"After all, the water is a good thing," remarked Blake, as he hastily
oiled the motor. "They couldn't jump on the hard ground, but the flood
saves them, even if it does destroy their houses."

"They are certainly having their own troubles," observed Joe.

"We'll help them all we can!" cried the manager. "Get out some of the
life preservers, boys, and the cork rings. It may be that we shall need
them."

They had provided themselves with these appliances before starting off
on their trip, and Blake and Joe now took them from the lockers and laid
them where they could be gotten at instantly.

"I saw a fire once," remarked little Charlie, who was an interested
observer of the fearsome scene.

"Did you?" asked C. C., who had taken a great liking to the small chap.
"Where?"

"Our barn burned up," the child went on, "but pa, he got our horse out,
and the cow."

"He must have lived on a farm," said the actor to the boys, "and yet
that upside-down house we took him from didn't look like a farm
dwelling. It was more like a city place."

"He may have lived on a farm when he was younger," observed Blake. "I
wonder if we'll ever find his folks?"

No one answered him, for they were all intent on watching the fire. Five
houses were now ablaze, and people were jumping from all of them, so
that the men in the boats had all they could do to make the rescues.
Farther along the row of dwellings, persons were preparing to leave, for
it was evident that nothing could save their homes except a change of
wind.

But boats were needed to enable them to get safely away, and it seemed
there were not enough craft. True, the water was not more than three to
six feet deep, and a man, or even some strong women swimmers, might have
gotten along safely, but frail ones, and the children, could not.

"We'll have plenty of chance to help!" cried Blake, as they came nearer
the scene.

Their approach was welcomed with cheers by those in peril.

"Hurray for the motor boat!" yelled one enthusiastic lad--enthusiastic
even in peril. His house was three or four dwellings removed from those
already burning.

"We'll take you off!" shouted Joe.

"That's the way!" cried one of the men in the small boats. "Just run 'em
over to the high ground, and come back for more. We will have to put up
tents to house 'em, I guess."

The _Clytie_ was steered close to a burning house, and the anxious eyes
of those aboard her sought for signs of life. There were no persons at
the windows, however, and they were about to pass on to the next, the
roof of which was just beginning to blaze, from the sparks falling on
it, when Joe cried:

"There's someone!"

"A little girl!" added Blake, as he saw the figure of a child at an
upper window.

"Jump!" called Mr. Ringold, while he reversed the propeller, to hold
back the boat against the force of the current. "Jump, little girl!"

"I--I'm afraid!" she sobbed.

"We'll save you!" added Mr. Piper, holding out his arms encouragingly.
"Jump, the water won't hurt you."

"I must get a picture of this," murmured Blake. "There are enough others
to aid in the rescue work, and I'll leave the camera, and help, the
minute I'm needed."

"Yes, it's too good a chance to miss," agreed Joe.

And, while the child hesitated at the window, the flames increased.
Blake got the moving picture camera into action.

"Come! You must jump!" called Mr. Ringold.

The child hesitated a moment longer, and then, as a backward look into
the house showed her the raging fire coming nearer, she burst into
tears, and climbed out on the window sill. Waiting there a moment she
let herself drop, feet foremost, into the flood.

"Watch her!" cried Mr. Ringold, as he remained at the wheel.

The child disappeared beneath the surface of the muddy water.

"I've got her!" yelled Mr. Piper, as she bobbed up a moment later, and
he hauled her aboard.

"Now you're all right, little one," he said, soothingly, as he cuddled
her in his arms. "We'll take care of you."

"We'll have to get out of here," shouted the manager. "It is getting too
hot!"

They had drifted in close to a burning house--so close, in fact, that
blazing brands fell on the deck of the boat. But they were quickly
extinguished by Joe. Blake continued to grind away at the camera,
getting a series of remarkable pictures of the burning houses in the
flood.

The small boats, having taken their loads of refugees to safety,
returned to continue the work, and the _Clytie_ was steered on down the
row of houses to where others were waiting to be saved.

Dwelling after dwelling was emptied of its occupants, and soon the motor
boat was laden to the limit of safety.

"We'll take 'em to high ground, and come back!" said the manager, as he
turned the bow of the craft up a side street, that led to the hills back
of the town.

They went in as near shore as was safe, and then those whom our friends
had saved were taken off on an improvised raft, and cared for by
volunteers who had hastily organized to help in this time of stress and
trouble.

"The fire will soon burn itself out," remarked Blake, as they went back
to it again. "I'll get all the pictures I can, though."

There were only a few more houses left in the row that had started to
burn, and when the last of these was gone there was a wide space which
would preclude the possibility of more being devoured by the flames--at
least until another blaze started.

There was nothing that could be done to check the conflagration. In
fact, as the boys learned later, the town was without fire protection,
save a volunteer company, with a hand engine, and this was, of course,
useless in the flood.

Proceeding to a house at a point below which the small boats were
engaged in rescue work, those aboard the _Clytie_ saved a number of
women and children. These were taken to a place of safety, and another
trip back made.

"There goes the last house!" cried Blake, as the final one in the row
caught.

"Yes, and there's a woman signaling to us!" added Joe.

"Two of 'em!" yelled Mr. Piper, as he caught sight of two forms at a
third-story window. This house was all aflame on one side, from the
water's edge to the roof, but it had not yet kindled on the side where
the women appeared. They had made their way to the top floor, perhaps on
account of fire being below them.

"Jump!" yelled Blake, as he put aside his camera, for the reel of film
had run out, and he did not want to stop to thread in more.

"Yes, jump!" added Mr. Ringold. "We'll save you--it's your only chance!"

"I'm coming!" answered one woman, and she made a dive into some deep
water an instant later, evidently being an accomplished swimmer. She
came up near the motor boat, and was promptly taken in.

"Come on!" cried Mr. Ringold to the other woman.

She hesitated, and drew back, evidently being in great fear, and she
seemed to be saying something, for her lips could be seen to move.

"You must jump!" the manager shouted, as he slowly backed the boat to
keep her as nearly as possible in a favorable position for picking up
the woman when she dived.

She gave a backward look into the house, and what she saw must have
caused her to make up her mind, for she prepared to leap into the flood
below her.

The one who had been at the window with her, having gotten her breath
after her leap, added her entreaties to those aboard the _Clytie_.

"Jump, Mary! Jump!" she begged. "It's your only chance!"

The woman at the window hesitated no longer. She tumbled, rather than
dived, into the water, but the rescuers were on the alert, and though
the woman came up some little distance from the craft, Blake, with a
boathook, caught her dress, and pulled her close enough so that Mr.
Piper could haul her aboard. Then the _Clytie_ was put in motion, for
the house was burning fast, and her position was anything but safe.

For a few moments after her rescue, the second woman thus saved was
hysterical. But her companion attended her, and soon she was more like
herself.

"You'll be all right in a little while," said Mr. Piper. "We'll take you
to high ground, and the good women there will look after you."

"Oh, what a terrible time it has been--fire and flood!" murmured the one
called Mary.

"It certainly has been, but the Lord is good to us--he sent these kind
men and boys to save us," the other added, as she looked at Blake and
Joe.

"If only He would give me back my little boy," sobbed the second woman
saved. "But oh, the flood has taken him!"

She sobbed on her companion's shoulder.

"There, there," soothed the other, "you may find him some day. Don't
take on so, Mary."

"I can't help it, Ellen. Oh, my poor boy!"

It was evident that she was referring to some previous loss. Charlie,
who had been in the darkened cabin, started suddenly as he heard the
voice of the woman called Mary. He now came out on the open deck, and
stared curiously at her. And the woman, who was supporting the head of
the other on her shoulder, looked at Charlie.

A change came over her face. She tried to speak but could not. Finally
she did manage to gasp:

"Mary! Look! Look! Here's Charlie now! Here's your boy!"

The woman raised her tear-stained face. For a moment she did not
comprehend, and then, as a look of great joy showed itself in her eyes,
she held out her arms, crying:

"My boy! My boy! Charlie! Is it possible!"

And as for the little lad, with one glad cry, he threw himself into her
loving clasp, sobbing over and over again:

"Mamma! Mamma! Oh, I am so glad!"

                              CHAPTER XVI

                          A BOLT FROM THE SKY

Blake, Joe and the others looked on in bewildered surprise at this
touching scene. That Charlie should have found his mother in this
fashion seemed scarcely possible, yet such was the fact.

For several moments mother and son were in each other's arms, murmuring
over and over again their protestations of love, and words of wonderment
at the meeting.

"Where did you find him?" the mother finally demanded, of our friends
aboard the motor boat. "Oh, where ever did you find him?"

"We got him out of a house, just as we did you," said Mr. Ringold, "only
it was an upside-down house, and not a burning one. And so he is really
your lost boy?"

"Of course he is!" she cried, while Charlie added:

"She's my mamma! I'm awful glad you found her for me. Where have you
been, Mamma?"

"It's a long story," she sighed. "But first I want to hear about you.
Oh, I thought I would never see you again."

"It won't take long to tell all we know about it," said Mr. Ringold, and
he related the facts of the rescue of the boy they had christened
Charlie House.

"His name is Charlie Wentworth," explained his mother, "and that was our
house from which you saved him. It's strange he did not know his last
name, and where he lived, for he has often been lost, and he could
always tell where he lived all right."

"I guess the flood frightened him," said Blake, with a smile. "How did
he happen to be left in the house?"

"It was because of the confusion of the flood in our town," explained
Mrs. Wentworth. "My husband and I were trying to save some of our
things, taking them to my mother's place on a hill. We had taken Charlie
to a neighbor's house before the water actually reached our dwelling,
but he must have wandered back into it again when we did not know it,
and have gone to sleep in the bed."

"Yep. I went to sleep in bed," supplemented the lad, with a happy laugh.

"Then the levee gave way suddenly," went on his mother, "and our house,
and several others, were carried away. My husband and I supposed Charlie
was safe at the neighbor's until we got there and found him missing. We
were frantic, and searched everywhere for him, never dreaming he was in
our own house. Then the flood grew worse and we had to flee to high
ground. We gave him up for drowned. Oh, it does not seem possible that I
have him again!"

"Where is your husband now?" asked Mr. Ringold, as he guided the boat
toward the place where the other rescued persons had been landed.

"We came on to this town, where my sister lived," went on Mrs.
Wentworth. "This is my sister," she added, nodding toward the woman who
had first dived into the flood. "We had to take refuge with her, as we
had no other home, and we did not think the flood would come here also.
But it did, and it brought my little boy to me!" she cried, as again she
clasped him in her arms.

"My husband is out, doing relief work," she resumed, after a moment. "We
heard a rumor, this morning, that some children had been rescued from a
raft farther down the river and he went down there to investigate,
thinking, and hoping against hope, that our Charlie might be one of
them.

"He will be more than surprised when he comes back to find my sister's
house burned in the flood, and that I have Charlie. Oh, I wish he were
here now!"

"I want to see papa!" broke in Charlie.

"And so you shall, my dear boy, as soon as he comes back. I expect him
to-night," said Mrs. Wentworth. "Oh, I cannot thank you enough--ever!"
and she gazed fondly at our friends.

"It wasn't anything," said Mr. Ringold. "We happened to visit the house
out of curiosity, and of course we brought Charlie away when we found
him. He's a brave little chap."

A little later the temporary camp, on the high ground, was reached, and
there Mrs. Wentworth, her sister and son were cared for by loving hands.
The others who had been saved from the burning houses were also being
looked after.

"Well, I guess we've done all we can here," said Blake, as they prepared
to resume their journey down the river.

The blazing houses were burning themselves out, down to the edge of the
water, and the danger from the flames was over. But the peril of the
flood still remained, for the waters slowly continued to rise.

"We found Charlie's folks," remarked Joe, when they had bidden an
affectionate farewell to the boy's mother, aunt and others of the
rescued ones, "we found Charlie's folks, but we can't seem to locate our
own friends."

"And yet we may find them in just as unexpected a manner as we found
Mrs. Wentworth," spoke C. C. "I tell you I'm mighty glad we happened
along when we did. It's just like a story out of a book."

"It would make a good moving picture, if we could show it all complete,"
spoke Blake.

"It could be worked up into a drama, with the flood scenes you have,"
declared the theatrical manager. "I could film the missing scenes later.
I believe I will."

"There'll be one happy father to-night," observed Joe, thoughtfully.
"When Mr. Wentworth comes back, unsuccessful, and finds his son, he sure
will be happy!"

"We'll miss the little chap," spoke Blake. "He was as good as gold while
he was with us."

On the chance that there might still be some in need of rescue in the
town where the houses had burned, the _Clytie_ went back through the
flooded streets, but men in small boats were patrolling the district,
and, thanking our friends for their work, said they would look after
matters now.

"But there won't be much left to look after, if this keeps on," spoke
one man, gloomily enough, as he looked over the burned section, and the
flooded village. "We've been smitten mighty hard."

"But we'll come up again, when the waters go down!" cried another, more
cheerfully. "It might be worse. No lives have been lost, so far, that's
one blessing!"

"That's a good way to look at it," said Mr. Ringold, as he directed the
craft out into the main flood again, and turned her bow down stream.

As they were all tired, and wet from the work of rescuing those who had
leaped into the water, it was decided to make a stop, tie up, have
something to eat, and clean the boat, for there was much mud and water
aboard from the clothing of the saved ones.

Accordingly, in a sheltered cove, tied to a tree that stuck up out of
the flood, they made a halt. The preparation of the meal, and the
cleansing of the boat took longer than they expected, and as Blake
wanted to get some pictures of that flooded section, they decided to
remain there over night, and proceed in the morning.

The weather had cleared again, at least for the time being, and, aside
from their anxiety about the missing ones, our friends were fairly
comfortable. They had put on dry clothing, and sat in the cabin of the
boat, discussing the strenuous scenes through which they had recently
passed.

A loud crash awakened them all about midnight, no watch having been
kept. It sounded like some great explosion, close at hand.

"What was that?" cried Blake, sitting up in his bunk.

He had his answer a second later, for there was a blinding flash, and
another booming sound.

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed Joe. "It's a storm!"

A moment later there came a deluge of rain, that fairly roared as it
struck the deck and awnings of the boat.

"Whew!" exclaimed Blake. "This is fierce! If this keeps up long the
flood will exceed its own high-water mark."

"Better take a look at the cable," suggested Mr. Ringold. "We don't want
to get adrift in this outburst."

Blake put on a raincoat, and stepped outside. The vivid lightning, and
the deafening thunder, kept up, and he was forced to cling to the rail
to steady himself against the motion of the craft, and the force of the
wind. The _Clytie_ was tugging hard at her mooring cable, which was
strained taut.

"It wouldn't do any harm to put on another rope!" cried Blake.

"We'll do it," answered Mr. Ringold, from the sleeping cabin.

Blake made his way to the cleat to which the boat end of the rope was
made fast. He saw, with concern, that the rope was frayed, and would not
hold much longer.

"Better hurry!" he called, but he had scarcely spoken when the very sky
seemed rent with a bolt of lightning, and, as the raging, roaring,
flooded river was lighted up by the flash, the rope parted and the motor
boat was carried away.

"We're adrift!" yelled Blake, as intense darkness succeeded the bright
glare.

                              CHAPTER XVII

                            THE COTTON BARGE

For a moment there was the utmost confusion aboard the craft. The words
of Blake, the sudden motion as the rope broke, the tossing and pitching,
as the boat was borne on the crest of the flood, seemed to deprive them
all of the ability to act.

Blake himself had nearly been carried overboard, so suddenly did the
cable part, but he managed to grasp a rail and so saved himself.

"Can you see anything?" yelled Mr. Ringold, as he was struggling into
his raincoat.

"Only when it lightens," answered Blake. "It's a fierce storm, all
right."

The others came out on deck, and, as flash succeeded flash, they viewed
the mad scene all about them.

On raced the motor boat, a frail thing indeed in that wild waste of
waters.

"We've got to start the engine!" yelled Mr. Ringold, for one needed to
yell to be heard above that storm. "It's the only way we can be safe,"
the manager added. "Start the motor!"

"And where will we steer?" Mr. Piper wanted to know.

"Anywhere we can, to get in some sheltered place," suggested Blake. "But
it's doubtful if we can stem this wind and current."

"We'll have to quarter it," spoke Mr. Ringold, when he had taken an
observation, by the aid of a lightning flash.

Meanwhile Joe and Mr. Piper had started the motor, and, as the welcome
throb and hum were heard, Blake and the manager went to the wheel.

"Better light up," the moving picture man said. "No telling what we may
run into, or what might run into us. There are probably boats afloat,
bad as the storm is."

Save for a single light in the cabin, and a riding light outside, the
_Clytie_ was in darkness when the cable parted. But now the
incandescents were switched on. They were operated by a large storage
battery, charged by a dynamo, run by the motor flywheel.

With a powerful searchlight at her bow, her stern light, and the red and
green side lamps, as well as the cabin lights, aglow, the craft now
presented a more cheerful aspect, and she was certainly safer. The
lights, too, helped to take away the really terrifying effect of the
vivid lightning.

The place at the wheel was partitioned off, and that little pilot house,
as it were, was left in darkness, to enable Blake and Mr. Ringold to see
to steer.

They could do little, however, save to try and cross the current in a
diagonal direction, to make their way to some sheltered cove.

"This certainly is the limit!" murmured Blake, as he stood at the
manager's side. "I didn't think there was any more rain left in the
clouds."

"There seems to be plenty coming down," observed the theatrical man,
grimly. They listened to it pelting on the cabin roof. It was a constant
roar, and added to it was the thunder of the sky artillery, following
each flash, and the never-ceasing hiss and hum of the rushing river.

"We'll have to look out for debris as best we can," spoke Mr. Ringold.
"There are some big logs afloat, and if one hits us end on----"

He did not finish, but Blake realized what he meant.

"Look! That struck just in front of us!" cried the youth, as he and his
companion shrank back, instinctively, from a particularly vivid flash.

His words were drowned in the shock that followed, and indeed it was
seen that the bolt had struck the water but a little way in advance of
the boat. A smell, as of sulphur, filled the air, and there was a
sensation as though everyone aboard the craft had received a mild
electric shock.

"That was close enough!" murmured Joe, as he come into the cabin, after
having seen to the oiling of the motor.

"I should say so!" agreed Mr. Piper, who followed him.

Try as Mr. Ringold did to send the craft out of the main current, he
seemed unable to accomplish it. It was as though the boat were in the
grip of some powerful hand, that was shoving her forward.

Several times, as they fairly flew onward, the propeller aiding the
current in making speed, those aboard felt the bumps and shocks as they
struck objects in the water. Fortunately the debris was moving at
considerable speed also, and in the same direction as was the motor
boat, or serious damage might have been done.

"There goes another hit!" cried Blake, as he saw a second lightning bolt
descend into the water. This one, though, was far enough off so that no
unpleasant effects were felt by our friends. The bolt from the sky,
however, hit and split wide open a big tree that was floating down
stream.

"If it strikes us," murmured Mr. Piper, "we'll----" And then he thought
better of what he was evidently going to say, and did not finish his
sentence.

"It's of no use," said Mr. Ringold, after a while, "We can't make any
headway across the river. We'll just have to go on and trust to luck."

He and Blake kept a sharp lookout ahead, and managed to avoid, several
times, collisions with floating debris in the shape of logs, and parts
of buildings.

As they rounded a turn, which could be made out by the flashes of
lightning, Blake uttered a cry.

"What's that--just ahead?" he shouted.

He pointed to a large black object, looming up on the right.

At the same moment there came another flash, seemingly of greater
intensity than any that had preceded it. The flash appeared to
completely envelope the big, dark object, and with one voice Blake and
Mr. Ringold cried:

"A cotton barge!"

"And struck by lightning, too!" added Blake, a second later, as, despite
the downpour of rain, flames burst from several places on the loaded
boat.

The lightning had indeed set fire to the cotton, which was floating down
the river. It had probably broken away from the place where it had been
moored, or from the tug that was towing it. Rapidly the flames gained
headway, and, as there came a sudden cessation to the rain, which might
have extinguished them, the tongues of fire leaped higher and higher.

"I hope we will be able to keep well away from her," murmured Mr.
Ringold, and for a time it seemed as though they might, for the burning
barge was well in advance of our friends.

But it was a vain hope. A little later the barge suddenly grounded on
some obstruction, and remained stationary, while the motor boat was
borne down directly on it.

"Steer to one side!" yelled Blake.

"I'm trying to!" echoed the manager, but it was easily seen that he was
not going to be able to do this in time. A moment later the _Clytie_
poked her bow against the barge, with great force.

Fortunately, however, a bale of cotton, hanging partly overboard, took
the brunt of the blow, so no damage was done.

"Back water!" cried Joe. "We'll be on fire in another minute!"

It certainly seemed so, for though they had struck the barge at a place
where, for the time being, there were no flames, the fire was rapidly
enveloping the whole cargo.

Mr. Ringold pulled the reversing lever, throwing in the gears, but the
craft remained with her bow still against the cotton barge. The force of
the current back of the _Clytie_ was too much for her to overcome. She
was gradually being swung around sideways to the barge.

The flames were getting hotter. They roared and crackled, and vied with
the thunder and lightning in adding to the scene of terror.

"Send her ahead!" suddenly cried Blake. "That's our only chance!"

"What for?" demanded his chum.

"We may be able to shove the barge off the bar, or away from the snag,
or whatever is holding her. Then she'll drift away from us. It's our
only chance!"

"You're right!" cried Mr. Ringold.

Once more he changed the lever, and now the propeller beat the muddy
water to foam, as the bow of the motor boat pushed hard against the side
of the barge.

And Blake's advice proved to be the best. For, hanging an instant on the
bar that had caught her, the barge suddenly gave way, and now, almost
completely wrapped in flames, she once more started on her journey down
the swirling torrent.

Then Mr. Ringold was able, by a quick turn of the helm, and by speeding
up the engine, to swing to one side, and away from the burning craft,
which was left to go on to her own destruction.

"Whew! Hot work!" exclaimed Blake.

"I should say so," agreed Joe.

The first fury of the storm seemed now to have passed. The thunder was
less heavy, and the lightning not so vivid. The rain had started again,
but it was a mere drizzle.

For several miles more the _Clytie_ went on, at the mercy of the
current, and then, as the lightning flash revealed a little cove to one
side, Mr. Ringold determined to steer for it.

To his delight he found that the boat answered her helm well, the river
being wider at this point, and the current less powerful. And then, a
little later, they were able to come into comparatively quiet waters,
where, with the aid of the searchlight, they found a big tree, to which
they tied, and with double cables.

                             CHAPTER XVIII

                               OVERBOARD

"Well, what's the program for to-day?"

"Down the river--more pictures--and make all the inquiries we can about
our friends."

It was Joe who asked the question, and Blake who answered it. The moving
picture boys were getting breakfast aboard the motor boat, which was
still safely tied to a big tree in the cove where they had made a stop
the night before, following the fire on the cotton barge.

It had stopped raining, but the sky was not clear, and the flood was all
about them, the waters being higher than ever. There seemed to be no
cessation to the increase.

"We certainly are getting a fine lot of pictures out of it all,"
murmured Joe, as he glanced at the pile of films in the water-proof
cases.

"Yes, that's the one redeeming feature," agreed Blake, as he put the
coffee on to boil.

"How's the weather outside?" called Mr. Ringold, from his bunk.

"Nothing to boast of," replied Blake. "Looks as if it would rain more
any minute."

"Anything out there worth filming?"

"Nothing much--a lot of stuff coming down the river, but we've got
enough of that," spoke Joe. "I only wish we could have filmed the
burning cotton barge, but we had enough to do as it was, to get clear of
it ourselves."

"I should say so," came from Blake, as he recalled the danger of the
night before.

Breakfast over, preparations were made for again moving down stream. The
boys got the camera ready to take any scenes that might be worth
filming, and Mr. Ringold and C. C. took charge of the boat.

As the lines were being cast off, there came rowing along the stream,
close in to shore, so as to keep out of the strong current, a farmer in
a skiff. He seemed somewhat surprised to see our friends, but hailed
them, asking:

"I say, you folks ain't seen nothin' of a spotted cow critter around
here; have you?"

"A cow? No," answered Blake. "We saw one floating down in a barn a day
or so ago. Was she yours?"

"No, my barn's still on land, but my spotted cow critter is missin' and
I thought maybe you folks might have seen her."

"She'd have to be swimming if she was around here," remarked Joe,
looking at the waste of water.

"Yes, I reckon so," agreed the farmer. "She jest naturally likes to
wander off, that spotted cow critter of mine does. I guess she'll be
drowned some day. Well, I'll look a little farther, and then I'll git
back. Water's gittin' higher all the while. Where you folks bound for?"

"No place in particular," Blake informed him. "We're looking for some
friends of ours."

"There's been a good many lost in this flood," the farmer said. "I had
two hens and a rooster drowned in the last flood. I lived on low ground
then. I've moved back a piece since. I'm hopin' the water don't come up
to me now."

"Is there any town near by--below here?" asked Mr. Ringold. Their
supplies were getting low, and needed replenishing.

"Yes, quite a good sized one about three mile down the river. The folks
is workin' hard too, to keep the water out. There's a big shipment of
cotton on the wharves waitin' for a boat to take it off, I hear. But if
she don't come pretty soon the cotton will go floatin' off by itself.
They can't git no help to move it back, 'cause all the men are busy on
the levee."

"That might make a good picture for us," suggested Blake to Joe, when
they had called good-bye to the farmer who was looking for his "spotted
cow critter."

"I believe it would," agreed Joe. "We'll have a try at it, anyhow."

"Kill two birds with one stone," said Mr. Ringold, "we'll get supplies,
and pictures too."

They started down stream, proceeding with care, for there was an unusual
quantity of debris in the river--logs, part of lumber rafts, dismantled
houses, barns and sheds. But the _Clytie_ was navigated safely through
it all.

Our friends had gone about a mile, when, as they went around a wooded
point of land, they saw a curious sight. It was a large steamer,
stranded inland, about a quarter of a mile from the water. It was listed
to one side, and about it were many men, engaged in digging a trench, or
canal, so as to float the craft back into the stream.

"Well, what do you know about that?" cried Joe, in surprise.

"Got to film her, all right!" declared Blake.

"How could such a thing happen?" C. C. Piper wanted to know.

"They probably went through a 'cut-off,'" explained Mr. Ringold, "and
must have gone aground. Then, before they could float her, the waters
took a new direction, made a new channel, and left the steamer where she
is. I've read of such things, but never saw one. We'll go over and find
out."

The motor boat was directed to a point nearest the inland steamer, and,
taking the camera, Blake and Joe went ashore, followed by the manager
and actor.

And, while the boys were taking moving pictures of the men at work
digging the trench, to bring the river to the steamer, since the boat
refused to go to the water, Mr. Ringold questioned the captain.

"That's about how it happened," the latter said, when the manager had
asked about the accident. "I tried a short cut, and we anchored for the
night right about here. I s'posed I'd have water enough to go on in the
morning, and maybe save about ten miles by this 'cut-off.' But, by
George! When we tried to start in the morning we found the waters going
down, and, before we knew it, we were high and dry. I don't know as
we'll ever get afloat now."

Indeed it did look like a hopeless task, but the men were working hard
to take advantage of the high water. Once the flood subsided the steamer
might never be floated, until another period of unusually heavy rain set
in.

"Well, I guess we've got enough of this," remarked Blake, as he took the
final scenes at the steamer. "Now for some views in the village below."

Once more they were under way, and a little later they came in sight of
the town, which was the principal shipping port for cotton in that
vicinity.

"Say, there's a big crowd working there!" exclaimed Joe, as they headed
for the levee, only a small part of which was out of water.

"Yes, there's a big crowd there, but look at the few who are working at
the cotton," spoke Blake. "There's a big pile of it, and it'll take
those few men a good while to move it. The water's rising fast, too."

The levee at this town was a sloping one, faced with cobble stones, and
when the river was low, horses and wagons were driven down it to the
landing stages of the steamers. There were no permanent docks, except on
the very top of the levee, and it was there the cotton was stored.

The absence of permanent docks, or wharves, close to the water was due
to the sudden rise and fall of the stream at this point. Sometimes the
steamers could come up to the permanent wharves, at the top of the
levee. At others they were some distance off, and goods had to be moved
down the slope in wagons, to the temporary landing stages, thrown out by
the boats.

The danger to the town, should the levee give way, was so evident, that
every available man had been called on to strengthen the sloping bank,
which kept back the waters. The owners of the cotton, it seems, had
appealed in vain for help in moving their cargo back out of danger, and
so they were obliged to do the work themselves. And it was no easy
matter to handle the big, clumsy bales.

The motor boat was tied where it would not be in the way, and, from the
bow, Joe and Blake took a series of moving pictures while Mr. Ringold
and C. C. went ashore to get some supplies, and make inquiries regarding
the missing theatrical company.

In regard to the latter, however, they received no satisfaction. Nothing
had been seen or heard of them. The telegraph line, however, was in good
working order, and Mr. Ringold sent a message to his New York office,
asking if any news had been received from the missing ones.

"We'll wait for a reply," he said. "It ought not to take many hours, and
we can easily spare the time."

"Joe," remarked Blake, when they had filmed several views of the scenes
at the levee, "suppose we take the boat down stream a short distance. I
want to get nearer to the piles of cotton, so they will show up well on
the screen."

"All right. I can work the boat, and you can manage the camera."

Mr. Ringold and the actor were up in the town, but the manager had told
the boys they might move the boat about as they pleased in getting
pictures.

Accordingly Joe cast off the line, started the motor and headed the
craft nearer to the cotton wharf.

"Hold her there now!" cried Blake, as he took a position at the bow with
the camera.

He was grinding away at the handle, paying no attention to the boat, or
river, when suddenly a swirl of the current carried a big log directly
against the bow of the craft. She was being headed slowly up stream, Joe
working the motor only fast enough to maintain a slight headway.

There came a jar that shook the _Clytie_ from stem to stern.

"Look out!" yelled Joe to Blake, but the warning came too late. The
young moving picture operator shot overboard, into the muddy water, the
camera clattering to the deck behind him.

                              CHAPTER XIX

                              A COLLISION

"Man overboard!" yelled Joe, more from a sudden instinct than because
there was anyone beside himself on the boat to be informed of the fact.
Then, with a leap, Joe was outside the pilot house, and standing in the
bow of the still-moving craft.

Joe had caught up, in his rush, a cork life ring, attached to a rope,
one being kept on the forward deck in readiness for any emergency in the
flood. The young operator shoved the fallen camera to one side, and
peered eagerly down for a sight of his chum.

"Here you go, Blake!" Joe cried, a hasty glance toward shore showing him
two men coming in a rowboat, in response to his cries. "Here you go!
Grab this!"

For he had a glimpse of Blake's head emerging from the water.

Blake was a good swimmer, but he was handicapped by his clothes and
shoes, and the fact that the current was rather swift.

The young operator shook his head, to rid his eyes of the blinding
water, and then reached out for the ring which Joe tossed to him. He
caught it in one hand, and then was quickly pulled toward the boat.

"All--all right--Joe--good--work!" Blake managed to gasp.

A moment later he was safe on deck, and Joe had to run back in a hurry
to the steering wheel, for the _Clytie_ was headed directly for the
small boat. The men in it were crying out in alarm, and endeavoring to
get out of the way. But the unguided motor craft seemed bent on running
them down.

"All right! Don't worry!" shouted Joe, as he twirled over the steering
wheel, and changed the course of the boat. "I guess we'd better go back
and tie up," he added. "Did you get enough pictures, Blake?"

"Well, we'll call it a day's work," panted the young operator, as he
managed to get a full breath after his sudden bath. "I was almost
finished when that bump came and knocked me overboard. What was it?"

"A big log. I didn't see it in time."

"Neither did I, or I'd have taken a brace," said Blake, grimly. "Well,"
he went on, as he picked up the camera, and found that it was not
damaged, "I guess I'll change my clothes. These don't look just fit for
going to a party," and he laughed. The camera had closed automatically
when he ceased grinding at the crank, so no pictures were spoiled.

"Can we do anything?" asked one of the men in the boat. They were
working on the levee, and had dropped everything, and pushed off in
their craft, when Joe's cry of alarm reached them.

"Thank you--no. It's all over," said Blake, as Joe guided the motor boat
back to her moorings.

Nothing worse than a wetting was the result of Blake's tumble overboard,
and soon, in dry clothing, he was ready for whatever came next. As they
had enough pictures of the work on the levee, and at the cotton wharf,
the boys decided to await the return of Mr. Ringold and the actor, who
had now been gone some time.

"Suppose we go up to town ourselves," suggested Blake, after a bit. "It
will give us a chance to stretch our legs, and we can help carry back
the rest of the supplies," for the latter had not all been put on board
yet.

"I'm with you," agreed Joe; and, seeing that their craft was securely
moored, they went ashore.

The town was a fairly large one, and contained several stores. But
business was practically at a standstill now, for everyone who could was
working at the levee. There were anxious looks on the faces of all--men,
women and children. But women and children were about the only ones in
the streets, the men all being at the river front.

"Look!" exclaimed Joe, pointing to a moving picture theater. It was
closed, probably from lack of patronage during the flood season, but in
front were some advertising lithographs.

"Some of our films!" cried Blake, as he saw some gaudily-colored
representations of those pictures he and Joe had taken in earthquake
land.

"So they are!" echoed Joe. "Who'd ever thought of seeing them here?"

"I wonder how they took with the audiences?" went on Blake, for he
always interested in the financial end of their business, and he and his
chum really tried hard to get the very best sort of moving pictures.

"I'd sort of like to know that, myself," murmured Joe.

A small boy was standing in front of the lithographs of the colored
pictures, looking at them interestedly.

"Would you like to go in? What time does the show start?" asked Blake,
handing the boy a dime, which he took eagerly, and wonderingly.

"Would I like to go in, mister? Well, I guess I would. But they ain't
givin' no shows while the river's risin'. Nobody comes and the feller
what runs the place says it don't pay him to open. But I saw them
pictures," and he nodded at the ones showing a volcano in eruption, and
the ground quaking--views that Blake and Joe had taken at a great
personal risk.

"How'd you like 'em?" asked Joe, winking at Blake over the lad's head.

"Say, they was the bulliest pictures ever I see, and I go to all the
shows when I can!" he cried with enthusiasm. "They was certainly some
pictures, believe me! I would like to have been there myself, only not
too close," he added, with caution. "The fellers who took them movies
sure must have had nerve. I'd like to meet 'em."

"We took those pictures," said Blake, suddenly.

The lad looked at him for a moment. Then a curious look came over his
face.

"Say!" he remarked in withering tones, "I'm much obliged to you for the
dime--I sure am, 'cause I don't git many. But there ain't no call for
you to try to string me that way--jest 'cause you slipped me a dime."

"But we did take those pictures," insisted Joe.

The boy edged away, as though he were afraid they might take strenuous
measures to compel him to believe them. Then, as a parting shot, he
called out:

"Much obliged for the dime, but I ain't as green as I look, mister. You
take them pictures? Bah! Think I'll believe that?" And he set off on the
run.

"I guess we might have better kept still," spoke Blake, with a grin at
his chum.

"I guess so, too. I s'pose it was asking rather too much to get him to
believe a couple of strange fellows took those views. And do you know,
Blake," went on Joe, "sometimes when I get to thinking about what we've
gone through since we used to work on the farm, I can hardly believe it
myself."

"That's right. The stunts we did in New York were strenuous enough for a
starter, but in the jungle, and in earthquake land--good night!--as the
poet says!" exclaimed Blake.

"And this is going to be worse, if I'm any judge," went on Joe, as he
nodded in the direction of the flooded river.

"Guess you're right," agreed his chum.

They kept on through the town, making a few purchases in stores where
women were the only clerks, the men being down at the levee.

"There they are!" exclaimed Joe, as he and Blake turned into the main
street, from a side one, and caught sight of Mr. Ringold and C. C.

"They look as though something had happened," observed Blake, as he
noticed their friends hurrying toward them.

"Maybe they heard about you falling overboard, but didn't hear of your
rescue," suggested his companion. But it was not that, as the boys
learned a moment later.

Waving a slip of paper over his head, Mr. Ringold cried:

"I've got news, boys! News of our missing friends!"

"Really!" cried Joe.

"Yes, they heard from them in the New York office. I just received a
telegram. It's quite a story."

"Where are they?" Blake wanted to know.

"Somewhere down the river," answered Mr. Ringold. "A message came from
them in a bottle."

"A bottle!" cried Joe.

"Yes. They must have been carried down on the flood, and only had time
to write a hasty message and fling it, stopped up in a bottle, into the
river. Here's a long telegram from the New York office. I'll condense
what it says."

"Then it's really news from them--from Birdie Lee and the others?" asked
Blake.

"It surely is," answered the manager. "What happened after they went to
the island to make moving pictures isn't stated. But a few days ago this
telegram came to the New York office."

He then read:

    "We are being carried down the river on part of a house that was
    washed away in the sudden flood. We are all together, but
    suffering very much. The waters rose very suddenly. Cannot tell
    where we will land. I am writing this and putting it in a
    bottle, which I will throw into the flood. Someone may pick it
    up and transmit it to you. Come to us if you can!"

For a moment the boys were silent, and then Blake asked:

"How did the message get to New York?"

"I had to make inquiries to find that out," replied Mr. Ringold. "It
seems that the bottle was washed ashore and picked up by a colored man.
He took it to his employer, who read the messages inside. They were
signed by Mr. Levinberg, who also put in a five-dollar bill, to insure
the sending of the telegram. With the note he wrote for transmission to
me was one asking the finder of the bottle to take the message to the
nearest telegraph office."

"But where was the bottle picked up? Where may we expect to find our
friends?" asked Blake.

"Somewhere below here, I think," said Mr. Ringold. "The message was sent
from a telegraph office about a hundred miles above here. Our friends
probably drifted on the flood near there. They are still in
the--beyond----" and he motioned to the flooded section lying to the
South.

"Then let's start!" cried Joe. "Every minute counts."

With the provisions aboard, a new supply of gasoline, and with the films
Blake was taking when he went overboard safely put away in water proof
cases, the rescuers once more took up their voyage.

The remainder of the day they kept on down the flooded river. Several
times they came within a short distance of big pieces of debris, and
collisions were narrowly averted.

The afternoon wore away and dusk settled down. It began to rain again,
and it was rather a discouraged party that looked out from the cabin of
the _Clytie_.

"Worse and more of it," murmured Blake, who was at the steering wheel.
"Will it ever stop?"

"Now, now! None of that C. C. stuff!" spoke Joe with a laugh. "Things
will come out all right yet. It's something to have had news of our
friends, when we didn't expect any."

"Yes, but think of the plight they must be in--floating down this river
in some house, that may go to pieces any minute!" cried Blake. "It's
terrible--for Birdie and the others. The men may be able to stand it.
But the ladies----"

"Well, perhaps they are rescued by this time," said Joe, cheerfully.
"That message was dated several days ago, you notice. And it must have
been two or three days afloat. I have a feeling, somehow, that we'll
find them all right."

"Well, I sure do hope so," spoke Blake. "Pshaw! I oughn't to be this
way!" he exclaimed. "I must look on the brighter side. Perhaps they are
all right, after all."

They ate supper in the enclosed cabin, for there was a cold drizzle of
rain that made going outside unpleasant. No one felt much like talking,
but the unexpected news had, in a measure, cheered them up.

"If they could only have given us some definite clew," spoke Mr.
Ringold. "I'd do anything I could to rescue them. But it is like
searching in the dark."

"And, speaking of the dark, reminds me that it will soon be dark here,
and we'll have to look for some place to tie up," remarked Blake. "I
think we'd better be getting over toward shore."

"And I agree with you," said Mr. Ringold.

He took the wheel, relieving Joe, who had not yet eaten. The craft was
directed over toward the eastern shore, and a sharp lookout was kept for
some sheltered cove where the night could be spent.

It grew darker rapidly, and the rain increased in violence.

"There's a lot of stuff coming down," observed Blake, as he stood at the
wheel, beside Mr. Ringold. "More debris than we've seen in some time."

"That's right," agreed the manager. "There's an island just below us,"
he added. "I wonder if, by any chance, our friends could have landed on
that."

"We might stop there and see," suggested Blake. "It might be a good
place to spend the night."

"I'll try it, at any rate," Mr. Ringold said.

The island, now that the waters had risen on all sides of it, was rather
small.

The motor boat was steered along the Western shore of it, but a nearer
view showed that there could, by no possibility, be any one on it. For
it was long and narrow, and a view could be had entirely across it.

"I guess we won't stop--there's no one there," the manager said, as he
veered the boat away.

"No--there's no sign of them," agreed Blake.

They were approaching the foot of the island--that is, the down stream
end, and, as the motor boat shot past it, carried by the powerful
current, and her propeller, Blake uttered a cry of alarm.

"Look out for that raft!" he yelled.

Mr. Ringold looked in time to see a big lumber raft, unmanned and
uncontrolled, coming down on the other side of the island. It turned the
lower end just as the motor did, and before those on board the craft
could do anything to avoid the danger, the raft had collided with them,
striking the _Clytie_ on the starboard bow with a resounding crash.

The boat heeled over, and seemed about to capsize.

                               CHAPTER XX

                              ON THE RAFT

"We're sinking!"

"Get out the life preservers!"

"Save the films and cameras!"

"And grab something to eat! Don't forget that!"

Thus cried those aboard the _Clytie_, for it was evident that the stanch
craft had made her last voyage. She was careened at a dangerous angle,
and her motor had stopped.

"The raft ripped a big hole in the bow!" shouted Mr. Ringold, who, with
Blake, had been thrown against the side of the pilot house, and was
somewhat stunned by the shock.

"Are we sinking?" asked Joe.

"No, but it is only a question of a few minutes. We must save
ourselves."

"And our outfit--if we can," said Joe. "What shall we do?"

A hasty examination showed that the jagged front logs of the raft had
been driven completely into the motor boat, staving in her planking,
through which the water was rushing. And, so violent had been the blow
of the collision that the _Clytie_ was actually impaled on the floating
tree trunks, that were bound together with ropes.

"Take to the raft!" cried Mr. Ringold. "It's our only chance!"

"That's right!" shouted C. C. "Come on, boys! Load all we can on the
raft!"

The water was now up over the cabin floor. It was evident that she was
going down fast. Only the fact that the raft stuck part way through her
held her up. Once filled with water, as she soon must be, she would pull
herself loose by her own weight, and go to the bottom of the
Mississippi.

"Food first, water--and something for a light!" cried Mr. Ringold,
issuing his orders calmly. "Then, if you can, boys, save the cameras and
films."

"Oh, we'll save them!" exclaimed Blake.

"I should say so!" murmured Joe.

A keg of water, some packages of food, and two lanterns were hastily
lifted over the side of the motor boat, and placed on the raft. Then
some blankets, bedding and other things were tossed over in a pile.

"Now the cameras and films!" yelled Blake. "Get on the raft, Joe, and
I'll pass them to you."

Stopping only to gather up a few personal belongings, Joe leaped to the
surface of the raft. It had been a large one, though only part of it
remained now, and it was well up out of the water.

"Here you go!" cried Blake, as he handed down the reels of exposed film.
And how glad Blake was that they had taken the precaution to wrap them
in oil-cloth! For it was raining, and he had to lay the reels down on
the raft, where the water would drizzle on them.

"Any more?" asked Joe, as he came back from the center of the log raft,
where he had piled the things Blake handed to him out of the motor boat.

"The cameras now. They're loaded, so be careful of them. We may get a
chance to take more views," spoke Blake, hopefully.

"It doesn't seem so," commented Joe, as he glanced at the sinking
_Clytie_.

Mr. Ringold and C. C. were busy saving what they could to give aid and
comfort while aboard the raft. It could not be much, for there was
little time to spare.

"She's going!" warned the actor, as he passed out another roll of
blankets and bedding.

"I think she is," agreed the manager, as the impaled motor boat gave a
lurch, and pulled partly away from the raft. She was filling rapidly
with water, and the great weight of that, as well as the weight of the
motor, was dragging down the hapless _Clytie_.

"Come on! Jump!" urged the actor to Mr. Ringold and Blake, who were
aboard the sinking boat. "No time to lose."

Blake paused only long enough to grab up a light rifle, and some
cartridges, which were in the cabin, and then he leaped to the raft.

He was followed by Mr. Ringold, and none too soon, for, a moment later,
with a rending of planks, the motor boat pulled away from the jagged
ends of the raft on which she was impaled.

A second's hesitation, and she sank with a gurgling, bubbling sound
beneath the muddy, swirling waters of the Mississippi.

"Good-bye, _Clytie_!" said Blake, softly, and it was as though he was
saying farewell to some dear friend.

"Well, I guess we've seen the last of her," murmured Mr. Ringold.

They stood silent for a minute, huddled together, a wet, miserable group
on the big raft that was racing down stream. Then, as he gazed at his
companions, and then at the pile of their possessions, C. C. Piper
remarked:

"What happened, anyhow? What does it all mean? Is it a dream or
reality?"

"It's real, all right," spoke Joe, mournfully enough. "We were rammed by
this raft--that's what happened. And it's lucky for us that these logs
stood by long enough for us to get aboard, or we'd be swimming out there
in the big muddy," and he nodded toward the river, from which they were
kept by none too stout a craft.

"It's my fault," said Mr. Ringold. "I should have seen this raft racing
along."

"Well, let's see what sort of a boat the raft's going to make for us,"
interrupted Joe. "We've got to stay aboard to-night, at all events."

"Yes, and maybe longer," added Blake. "Well, there's a cabin to take
shelter in, anyhow. Let's take a look at that."

He nodded toward the stern of the raft, and, looming up in the darkness,
could be seen a sort of shack, or shanty. It was where the raftmen did
their cooking, eating and sleeping, while navigating the big collection
of logs down the river.

"Let's see what sort of place it is," Blake went on. "Maybe there are
bunks in it, and a stove where we can cook what stuff we've got left,"
and he looked at the little pile of food they had been able to save from
the sinking boat.

                              CHAPTER XXI

                              ADRIFT AGAIN

"Not so bad."

"That's right! It might be a whole lot worse."

"It's rough, but we can stand it."

"We've got to. There's no going ashore while this flood keeps up."

Thus, in turn, Blake, Joe, Mr. Ringold and C. C. commented, as they
stood in the doorway of the slab shack erected on the stern of the
lumber raft. Blake had lighted the lantern he had taken the precaution
to save from the sinking motor boat, and this gave light enough to see
the interior of the cabin that must be their abiding place, for how long
they could not tell.

"Well, there's a place where we can stretch out, anyhow," said Blake,
after a pause.

"And a stove to cook on, and plenty of wood for fires," added Joe, as he
looked down at the raft. "It won't be so bad, after all."

The slab cabin was a roomy one, made to accommodate at least half a
dozen men, for there were that many bunks. There were rude chairs, a
couple of tables, and some cooking utensils and dishes. Evidently the
crew that had been bringing the raft down stream had counted on being
aboard for some time.

"They must have gone off in a hurry," commented Mr. Ringold, for some of
the chairs were overturned, and there were the remains of a meal,
partially consumed, on the table. Articles of clothing were scattered
about, and the bed coverings were tossed back on some of the bunks, as
though the sleepers had hurried out, without waiting to stop and gather
up their belongings.

"There must have been some sort of accident to the raft," observed Mr.
Piper. "Probably it was suddenly caught in the rising flood, and maybe
it collided with a boat, or another raft. Part of it was carried away,
that's evident from the jagged end that hit us. And I reckon the men
fairly jumped overboard, leaving everything here just as we see it."

"That's probably the explanation," agreed the manager. "Well, let's get
our things in out of the rain, and see what we can do."

It was showering heavily now, and the boys were more glad than ever that
they had taken the precaution of wrapping the films in waterproof
coverings.

Some other lanterns were found in the cabin, and, being filled with oil,
they were lighted and hung up on the walls.

"We ought to show a light outside, too, I suppose," said Blake,
reflectively.

"That's so, to avoid being run down by a passing steamer," said Mr.
Ringold, "though I don't believe many vessels will take a chance of
navigating the river when it's in this condition. Still, it's best to be
on the safe side."

There was a pole about amidships of the raft, evidently intended to be
used for displaying a light, and a lantern was put as high on this as
possible.

By this time our friends had brought into the cabin the things they had
so hastily removed from the motor boat, and then they sat down to
consider matters, and decide on some course of procedure.

"First of all," began Mr. Piper, "we must----"

"Have something to eat!" interrupted Blake. "There's dry wood in here,
and a stove. I see a coffee pot, and I know we brought some ground
coffee--not much, but some. Where's that keg of fresh water?"

"Here," replied Joe, who had brought it in. "It won't go very far,
though."

Indeed the water supply was going to be a serious matter, though, if
worse came to worst, they could use the river water, by allowing it to
stand for some hours, to settle. It was fresh, but full of mud, and
unpleasant to taste and smell. They could also catch the rain as it
fell.

"I saw a barrel outside the shack," spoke Mr. Ringold. "Maybe that has
water in it."

"I'll look!" offered Blake. "It has!" he cried a moment later, "and it's
fresh water, too. That will last us some days."

"Then go ahead, and make coffee," suggested Joe, "and we'll see what
else there is here."

An inspection of the cabin showed that there was some food left. It was
not very choice, but it was better than nothing, consisting of canned
stuff, and, with what our friends had managed to take off their sinking
boat, would do for a while.

A fire was soon crackling in the rather dilapidated stove, and the odor
of coffee, fragrant and appetizing, filled the air.

"Well, this isn't so bad," remarked Blake, as he sat munching a canned
corned beef sandwich. "We're pretty snug in here."

"Yes, and we don't have to worry about running a motor, or sinking,"
added Joe. "We can't sink. I really like this better than the _Clytie_,
after all."

"You might--if you say it quick!" spoke Blake, half-sarcastically.
"Still we're a good deal better off here than out there," and he nodded
toward the river.

"But the question is: What's going to become of us?" asked C. C. "We
can't stay here for ever."

"Nobody wants to," said Blake. "But we've got to--for a while; until
we're taken off, anyhow. We certainly can't swim to shore. We're about
in the middle of the river now, and this is several miles wide. We've
got to make the best of it."

"We can't do anything but let her drift," said Mr. Ringold. "The sweep,
or steering oar, is gone, though we might manage to rig up another.
We'll try in the morning."

The meal, rude as it was, revived them all, and cheered their drooping
spirits. They discussed the matter, and decided there was little use in
keeping a watch during the night. They had just to float on.

"Well, it's good and dry in here, anyhow," observed Blake, as he crawled
into one of the bunks.

"Yes, that's another comfort, and we've got more room than we had aboard
the _Clytie_," said Joe.

"Don't go to making fun of the old craft," cautioned his chum. "She
served us well. I'm sorry she's gone."

They went to sleep with the rain pattering on the roof of the cabin,
thankful for the raft, in spite of the havoc it had made in their plans.

A dreary, drizzling day succeeded. They made themselves as comfortable
as they could in the cabin, and went carefully over their food supplies.

"Enough for two days, anyhow," said Mr. Ringold. "After that, well----"

He shrugged his shoulders, and did not finish. But they all knew what he
meant.

They were in the middle of a wide and desolate stretch of the
Mississippi. In the far distance, as they rushed along with the swift
current, they could see small towns and villages. They could not,
however, reach them, for they could not steer the raft. They tried to
make a long sweep, such as the lumbermen use, but they had no pole long
enough, and no tools with which to cut one out of the lumber at their
disposal.

Joe and Blake did, indeed, try to construct a pole out of one of the
loose slabs on the side of the shack, by splitting it with a small axe.
But the result was only a weak, wobbly staff, that broke the first time
it was used.

"We've just got to drift on--until something happens," said Mr. Ringold.

Joe examined their cameras, for they had two, and also the developed and
undeveloped films. The latter were safe in the water-tight cases. In the
afternoon, when it cleared a little, Joe and Blake took more moving
pictures from the front end of the raft.

They saw no craft of any kind. They seemed alone on the waste of waters.

Night came, and they floated on. They ate less now, for they wanted to
make their food supply last as long as possible. But the victuals seemed
to go alarmingly fast.

"Maybe we'll drift ashore to-morrow," said Mr. Ringold, hopefully. "If
we do we'll leave the raft, and walk until we get to some place where we
can hire a boat. For, now that we are reasonably certain that our
friends are somewhere down the river, we must make every effort to find
them."

It was about midnight when they were all awakened by a severe shock.

"What's that?" cried Mr. Ringold, leaping from his bunk.

"We hit something!" cried Joe.

"I should say we did!" yelled Blake. "We're ashore, that's what we are.
We're not moving!"

The raft was not moving, save for a slight undulating motion, due to one
end being afloat, and the other on land; at least so they supposed.

Taking one of the lanterns, Blake went outside. There was no rain, and a
pale moon, behind some watery clouds, gave a little light.

"What is it?" Joe wanted to know.

"We've run into an island--or an island has run into us," Blake
answered.

"An island!" echoed Mr. Ringold. "I was hoping it was the mainland."

"No such good luck," went on Blake.

They joined him "on deck," if one may use such a term concerning a raft.
Looking forward they saw that the front, and jagged, end of the
raft--the same that had rammed and sunk the _Clytie_--had struck on a
small island, and was wedged fast in the bank.

They did not sleep much more that night. In the morning, an examination
showed that it would be out of the question to remain on the island, and
leave the raft. The spot of land, in the midst of the flood, was too
small. Probably when the river was at its ordinary height the island was
considerably larger. It proved of one advantage to our friends, however,
for there was a spring in the middle of it, where the ground was higher,
and this gave them a supply of fresh water.

"I wonder if we couldn't work the raft off?" mused Blake, when they had
eaten a very light lunch, for their food was now very low.

But the raft was too heavy, and too firmly imbedded in the soft mud of
the island, to enable our friends, try as they might, to float it. They
toiled and tugged all the afternoon, for they felt the almost vital
necessity of getting away, and reaching a place where they could get
more food.

"I guess we're stuck--and stuck fast!" said Blake, wearily. Then it
began to rain again, and they retired to the cabin and went to bed,
though no one slept much.

It was about ten o'clock when Joe, getting up for a drink, felt the raft
suddenly move.

"Something's happening!" he cried.

At once they were all aroused. The affair of logs trembled and shivered.
Then, with a rending, splintering sound she floated free of the island.

"We're afloat again!" cried Joe. "The river must have risen and pulled
us free."

                              CHAPTER XXII

                            ON A BIG ISLAND

"Say, we're having luck, all right!" exclaimed Blake, when it was made
certain that they were adrift again. "I thought we'd be stuck on that
island for days."

"So did I," returned Joe. "Yes, we've had luck, of a certain kind, but
it isn't going to feed us," and he looked at the shelves of that part of
the cabin called the "pantry." The shelves were empty of all save one
small tin of corned beef, and a box of crackers. That, with coffee, must
be their breakfast.

It seemed as though that night would never pass. Slowly it wore on, and,
through the storm and darkness, through the rising water, floated the
raft, bearing the rescue party onward. It was scarcely a rescue party
any longer, however, being more in need of rescue itself.

But, desperate as their plight was, our friends had not given up hope of
finding and saving the missing theatrical company. The chance and hope
were slim indeed, but Blake, Joe and the two men were not of the sort
that give up easily.

"Conditions must be fierce all along the river, the way the water keeps
on rising," said Blake, when the first faint streaks of dawn showed in
the gray, leaden-colored sky.

"I should say so!" agreed Joe. "The river must have gone up almost a
foot in the night, to lift us off the island. It took considerable power
to pull the logs out of the mud where they were stuck."

"I think the raft broke, and twisted away from the front logs," was
Blake's opinion, and this, later, was found to be so. So firmly imbedded
in the mud had been the jagged and sharp ends of the logs, that they had
remained there. But the stern of the raft, rising, had broken the
fastenings, and a section of it had been left on the island.

"All hands to breakfast!" called Mr. Piper, a little later. "And curb
your appetites," he added, grimly, as he pointed to the crackers and
corned beef on the rough table. "Don't ask for more than one helping of
pie, only one slice of white turkey meat to a customer, and no gravy.
What do you expect, anyhow?"

They made as merry as they could over the frugal repast, but it was
really no joke. Fortunately the coffee held out, and they knew they
could live on that for some time.

"If we could only work the raft to shore, or signal for help to some
steamer, we'd be all right," complained C. C. "But we can't do it."

The great flood had caused an almost complete cessation of river
navigation, at least in the stretches where they now were. They had seen
no craft of any kind since being obliged to take to the raft, and the
river was so wide that they could not communicate with towns on shore.
They passed several small hamlets that were deserted, for the water was
up to the second stories of the houses. The inhabitants had fled back to
higher ground.

"Well, we've got to do something," said Blake, when noon came, and the
pangs of hunger were felt. "I wonder if we couldn't build a signal fire,
or raise a flag of distress, or something like that. It might bring
help."

"We could try," agreed Joe. "Let's hoist a blanket up on the lantern
pole, and make a smudge fire. It'll be safe, for there's so much water
around us that we can put it out easily enough. It might do some good."

A ragged blanket was nailed up as high on the pole, amidships, as they
could reach, by standing on some boxes. Then preparations for making a
smudge fire, or one that smoked, rather than blazed, went on.

"Make it up forward," suggested Mr. Ringold. "And take a piece of the
stove grate from the oven to keep the blaze up from the logs. They're
green, but they might burn through, and cause trouble."

Blake went forward to look for a good place to make the fire, which
would be fed with damp wood, to cause more smoke. Joe was preparing some
splinters and light kindling, from packing boxes, to start it.

"Say, but I am hungry!" murmured Joe, as he looked for matches.

"So am I!" echoed his chum. "But I guess we'll have to take it out
in--coffee."

The fire was made, and a dense cloud of smoke arose.

"They ought to see that from shore, if it is two or three miles away,"
remarked C. C.

"If they'll only come out to investigate, and take us off," spoke the
manager. "Those who see it may think it is only a pile of rubbish on
fire."

"Well, we've done all we can," said Blake, despondently.

A spirit of gloom seemed to have settled down over them all. Probably
the lack of food caused it, though their plight was bad enough without
that being added to it.

Late in the afternoon, Blake, going forward to put some more wet wood on
the smouldering blaze, came hurrying back with a strange look on his
face.

"Say!" he cried to Joe, who was making a pot of coffee, "there is some
kind of an animal on the front end of this raft."

"Animal?" repeated Joe, wonderingly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I say. There is some animal up forward there under
that pile of boxes," for some empty packing cases were stacked up front,
evidently placed there by the lumbermen to use, later, for fuel in the
stove.

"You must be dreaming," spoke Joe.

"I am not! Come and see!" invited Blake, and, slipping into the cabin,
he came out with the small rifle he had taken from the motor boat.

"What are you going to do?" asked Joe.

"Shoot it, if I get the chance," replied his chum, in determined tones.

Together the moving picture boys advanced cautiously.

"How did you happen to see it?" asked Joe, as they approached the pile
of boxes.

"Why, it ran out just as I stooped over to put some wood on the fire.
Then, when it saw me, it ran back again."

"What was it? How big was it?" Joe wanted to know.

"Well, it was pretty big," said Blake, "and it looked like a muskrat, as
much as anything."

"Maybe it was a muskrat," Joe suggested. "There must be a lot of 'em in
this river, especially since they've been driven out of their homes by
the high water."

"Are muskrats good to eat?" asked Blake.

"Why, yes, I've heard of people eating them," Joe replied, doubtfully.
"Why do you ask?"

"Because we might have to eat 'em," Blake went on, with a grim look
coming over his face. "I'm not going to starve."

"It isn't much fun," admitted Joe.

"You go over there, and tear down the pile of boxes," suggested Blake,
"and I'll stand ready to pop at it when the beast comes out."

"All right," assented Joe.

One by one he took away the empty boxes, tossing them aside. He was soon
down near the bottom of the pile.

"There doesn't seem to be anything here," he said.

"Oh, it's in there, all right," spoke Blake, confidently.

Hardly had the words left his lips than there was a scurry in one of the
boxes, and a big, grayish animal ran out.

"There he goes!" cried Joe. "Pop him over! Get him!"

Blake did not answer, but he threw the rifle to his shoulder, took a
quick aim, and pulled the trigger.

There was a sharp report, a little squeal, and then the animal, which
had run out to seek new shelter, curled up near the edge of the
raft--dead.

"There's your muskrat," said Blake, calmly. "Now let's eat him. We can't
be squeamish."

"Muskrat? That's no muskrat!" yelled C. C. Piper, as he came running up
to inquire the cause of the shot.

"What is it, then?" asked Blake.

"It's a 'possum, and a fine fat one, too!"

"Opossum!" repeated Blake. "Is it good to eat? That's what interests me
now, more than what sort of an animal it is."

"Good to eat! I should say so!" cried the moving picture actor. "They're
fine, baked with sweet potatoes."

"Well, we'll have to get along without the sweet potatoes, boys,"
remarked Mr. Ringold, laughingly. "But it's lucky you got him, Blake.
Opossum is good eating."

Blake and Joe looked a bit doubtful, but, when the animal was served,
they ate with a zest that comes from a good appetite.

"It must have jumped on the raft the time we were stuck on the island,"
said Joe. "And it's lucky for us that it did."

The opossum, so providentially obtained, served to put them over that
day and part of the next.

It was nearly noon, and the last of the opossum meat had been served,
and the last of the coffee made. Blake and Joe went down to the pile of
boxes, to lift them about again.

"We might find another 'possum," remarked Blake, and he took the rifle
with him. But, to their regret, there were no more aboard.

"I'd be glad to see even a muskrat," spoke Joe. But none of those
animals, which are greatly relished by some persons, was on the raft.

"If we only had our fishing tackle, we might try our luck in the river,"
suggested C. C.

"I guess we could rig up something," said Blake.

There was no need to do this, as they found some lines and hooks in the
cabin. They used some of the opossum skin for bait, but either the river
was too high, or the bait was not tempting enough, for they got no
bites.

Late that afternoon the raft swung around a bend in the river, and at
once there appeared, just below, a large island.

"We're heading right for it!" yelled Blake. "We'd better try to steer to
one side."

But to do this was out of the question. They had no method of steering
their unwieldy craft.

On they rushed, straight for the island, which was of large extent. It
was quite high, and well wooded.

"I guess we've got to land there whether we want to or not," cried Mr.
Ringold.

Hardly had he spoken, when the raft crashed into the island. The forward
logs were piled up brokenly on the shore, and a creaking, splintering
sound gave warning that the raft was going to pieces.

"She's breaking up!" yelled Blake.

"Save what stuff you can!" shouted Joe. "The cameras and films!"

                             CHAPTER XXIII

                             THE LOST ONES

The raft, pushed hard against the end of the island by the power of the
river current, buckled. The middle part rose up in the shape of the
inverted letter V. The logs tore from their fastenings of ropes and
chains, and broke and splintered one against the other.

"Come on!" yelled Blake. "Save what we can!"

He and the others rushed into the cabin, where their things had been
stored. There was no food to be saved, and no time to roll off the water
barrel. They would have to take their chances of finding a spring on the
island, or drink the river water.

"The cameras! The films!" cried Joe, again. "Save them!"

He and his chum gave their attention to these. With them in their arms
they rushed, as best they could, over the raft toward land. Mr. Piper
and the manager looked after the clothing and bedding.

By this time the raft had swung around, broadside to the island,
bringing the cabin that much nearer the shore. This made it more easy to
save what few belongings they could take with them.

Back and forth they ran from the raft to the island. The cameras and the
films were put in a safe place, and then the two moving picture boys
helped in removing the other belongings.

Some clothing, some bedding, an axe, the rifle, and a few other things
were all they had time to save. Then, with a splintering of timbers, a
cracking of chains and a parting of ropes, the raft divided into two
parts, one being swept down one side of the island, and the other
portion down the opposite shore.

Blake, Joe and the two men stood beside their little heap of belongings,
looking at one another with solemn faces.

For a moment no one spoke. They looked at the logs, rushing on down the
river, and then Blake said:

"Well, things haven't stopped happening yet."

"I should say not!" cried Joe. "This is worse and more of it. What
next?"

"No telling," said C. C., gloomily. "We'll probably starve here."

"Oh, I hope not!" said Mr. Ringold, with assumed cheerfulness. "There's
probably a restaurant around the corner. We'll go there and have some
roast chicken. Don't all speak at once."

To the credit of Mr. Piper be it said that he laughed. His gloomy
periods seemed to be leaving him.

"Well, let's see where we're at," suggested Mr. Ringold. "What have we
here?"

"Nothing to eat; that's certain," remarked Joe. "And I could take in a
whole----"

"Don't you dare say porterhouse steak!" interrupted Blake. "That would
be adding insult to injury."

"All right; then I won't," agreed Joe.

"It's coming on night," spoke Mr. Ringold. "If we can't have supper we
must, at least, provide some sort of shelter. We have some blankets, and
we can cut down poles, and make a tent. It looks as though it was going
to rain again."

"It sure does," agreed Blake. "We've got to have some sort of shelter."

"To say nothing of something to eat," added Joe, in a low voice.

"Eat! I'd give a good bit, just for a muskrat sandwich!" said Blake.

Tired and discouraged, but still not giving up all hope, our friends set
to work to make a rude tent. By the use of blankets and poles they made
one, well up from the water.

Fortunately the island was of high, sloping formation, and, knowing that
the river might rise suddenly, they went far enough away from the edge,
to preclude any possibility of being overwhelmed in the night.

"This must be a big island," observed Joe, as he and Blake worked
together. "When the water is at the regular level it must be some miles
across."

"I guess it is," agreed his chum.

Penetrating into the woods, in search of more tent poles, Blake uttered
a cry of surprise.

"What's the matter?" shouted Joe. "Have you found anything?"

"I should say I had!" answered Blake, as he came rushing out with a
square tin box in his arms. "Look here! Pilot biscuit--a whole tin of
it, and only a little of it is wet! This will keep us alive for a while,
anyhow."

"Where in the world did you find it?" asked Joe.

"Back there, by that big tree. It must have been washed down here by the
flood."

"I don't care how it got here," cried Joe, "give me some."

Mr. Ringold and Mr. Piper came up on the run to view the find. As Blake
had said, it was a large tin of pilot biscuit, and only a little water
had come in, thanks to the waxed paper covering.

"Say, if we only had the clam chowder that goes with these crackers,
wouldn't it be great!" mumbled Joe, as he took another pilot biscuit.

"Quit it!" begged Blake.

For, be it known, pilot biscuit are large, hard, round crackers, made on
purpose for serving with clam chowder, with which they make a most
excellent combination.

As they sat there in the dusk, making a meal off these crackers and
drinking water (a spring having been found), Mr. Piper asked:

"Where did you say you found these, Blake?"

"Right up there, on that little knoll, by the big tree."

"And how did you say you thought they got there?"

"Why, I suppose the flood must have carried away a country store, and
washed the box up there."

"Did you see any other stuff washed up there--anything other than
debris, or anything else in the eating line?"

"Not a thing--I wish I had."

"Well," remarked Mr. Piper, "I don't wish to raise false hopes, or
anything like that, but I should say that this tin of pilot biscuit was
dropped, or left, up there by someone who has been on, or who is still
on, this island!"

"You mean--people?" cried Blake, leaping to his feet in surprise.

"That's what I mean. Why, this box of crackers never was washed up there
by the flood--the water didn't come high enough. That box was dropped
there by someone who took refuge on this island."

For a moment no one spoke, after C. C.'s announcement. Then Mr. Ringold
remarked:

"I believe you're right!"

"Of course I'm right," declared the actor. "Why, it stands to reason
that the box of biscuit was never washed up here. The flood hasn't got
that high yet."

"And do you think whoever dropped it is still here?" asked Joe.

"That's more than I can say," went on Mr. Piper. "They may have been
here a short time, and gone off again. Pilot biscuit is often carried on
boats, for it keeps well, and is always good eating. Some boating party
may have been here before the flood, having a picnic, as it were."

"Don't talk of picnics!" begged Blake. "It makes me think of good things
to eat."

"Well, aren't you eating?" Joe wanted to know, with a grim smile.

"It's better than nothing," admitted Blake, as he took another cracker.

Our friends passed a wretched night. If you have ever tried to sleep in
a leaky tent, in the rain, having had nothing worth while to eat, and,
at the same time, anxious about your safety, you can, perhaps, imagine
what Blake, Joe and the others suffered. They slept in fitful dozes, in
spite of their wretchedness, and how they welcomed the morning light,
raining though it was!

"First call for breakfast!" shouted Joe, as he brought out the tin of
biscuits. "Regular prison fare--bread and water," he commented, with a
laugh.

"Well, it's better than nothing," declared Mr. Piper, and the others
rejoiced that, in this time of adversity, he could be so cheerful.

Leaving the cameras and films under cover of the tent and some blankets,
as well as in the water-proof coverings, the party set off on a tour of
exploration.

"We'll see if there are any persons on this island," said Mr. Ringold.

Through the rain they started off. It was not easy going, and they were
weak from lack of proper food.

But, doggedly, they kept on. There was a hill in about the centre of the
island, a hill that would seem to give a good view of the surrounding
land.

Blake reached the summit first. He looked about him, and then gazed,
steadfastly and earnestly, into a little glade that was below him.

"See anything?" asked Joe, as he panted up after his chum.

"I don't know--I--I----" and Blake's voice trembled. "Are those tents
down there, Joe, or--or is it only mist?"

"They're tents all right, old man! Big tents, too! Say, there are people
here!" he fairly shouted.

"Come on!" cried Blake, starting down the slope.

They fairly ran down the hill. A little way from the tents the party of
refugees came to a halt. Blake rubbed his eyes, as though to brush away
clinging cobwebs. He stared at a girl who came from one of the tents.

"Birdie Lee!" he gasped.

"Blake Stewart!" came the surprised answer. "You here!"

And the two stared wonderingly at each other.

                              CHAPTER XXIV

                             RISING WATERS

Others came running out of the tents--Mr. Robertson, Mr. Levinberg, Miss
Shay--several other actors and actresses, and also the moving picture
operators.

"Look--look!" cried Birdie, pointing to Blake. "Is it Blake, or am I
dreaming?"

No one answered her for a moment. They were all too surprised. Then,
looking back up the hill, the company of players saw Joe, Mr. Ringold
and C. C. Piper.

"How did you get here?"

"Where did you come from?"

"Were you looking for us?"

These were some of the questions rapidly fired back and forth.

"Say!" cried Blake, at length. "Have you anything to eat? We're most
starved--nothing but some pilot biscuits that we found in a tin."

"There!" cried Birdie Lee. "I knew we left those biscuits behind. We
must have dropped them when we moved our camp. And I did so want them
with the canned clam chowder."

"Clam chowder!" cried Joe. "Say, where is it? I'll eat the can itself!"

"But where did you come from? How did you get here?" asked Mr.
Levinberg.

"Let's feed them first, and have explanations afterward," suggested
Birdie Lee, as she clasped a hand each, of Blake and Joe. "Oh, we are so
glad to see you!" she cried, impulsively.

"Just a word of explanation!" begged Mr. Ringold. "I can't understand
this. How did you folks get here? We've been looking for you all along
the river."

"We hoped somebody would come for us," said Miss Shay. "Have you a boat
so you can take us to shore?"

"A boat? No!" cried Blake. "Our motor boat was hit by a raft and sunk,
and then the raft hit this island and went to pieces. We're stranded.
Haven't you folks a boat?"

"Not a boat," said Mr. Robertson, with a shake of his head. "We're
marooned on the island."

"Come on! I'm sure they must be starved!" laughed Birdie Lee. "Feed them
first, and talk afterward. At least we have plenty of food."

And, when the moving picture boys and their companions had made a hasty
meal, explanations were made.

"We were caught in the flood, when we went to that first island," said
Mr. Levinberg, "and carried down the river in our boat."

"And we thought surely we would be drowned," put in Miss Shay.

"But we weren't," resumed the chief actor. "Fortunately our boat was a
large one, and we had plenty of food and supplies. We went out equipped
for a long stay, you know, with tents that were to be used in some of
the island scenes, and many other things. We had time to put most of
these aboard the boat, before the flood came.

"Then we tried to get back to Hannibal, but the current was too much for
us. So we decided to come on down, and trust to luck. But luck was
against us, for our rudder broke, and we could not ship a new one. So we
were carried on down, utterly unable to guide our boat.

"We tried to signal for help, but we were carried too far out to allow
our signals or cries to be heard by persons in the towns we passed.
Anyhow, I guess they had their own troubles. We met no other steamers,
and all we could do was to come on with the flood.

"Finally we swashed into a house, and, house, boat and all, we landed on
this island, and we've been here ever since," concluded the actor.
"We've been hoping against hope that someone would come to our relief,
for, though we still have considerable food, it will not last forever."

"But where is the boat in which you came here?" asked Mr. Ringold.
"Can't you repair the rudder and use it?"

"We haven't the boat now," said Birdie. "The high water carried it away
one night, and the house too, though we saved some stuff from it."

"That's right," said Mr. Levinberg, "our boat slipped her cable, and
went on down stream. Luckily we had all our supplies out of her.

"We landed at the end of the island where you struck," the actor went
on. "We made a camp there, and then moved up here."

"And that's how we left behind the tin of pilot biscuit for clam
chowder," said Birdie.

More and detailed explanations of the experiences of the two parties
were exchanged, and then preparations were made for housing the four
newcomers for the night. There was another tent that could be put
up--one of several taken along to be used in the picture films--and with
their own bedding our friends were made fairly comfortable.

"Say, but it seems good to eat once more!" remarked Joe, at supper that
night. "Nothing but crackers and water--whew!"

"And 'possum!" added Blake, and he told of shooting that animal.

A fairly complete camping outfit had been brought along and saved by the
picture players, and this did good service now. Of course the food was
all of the canned variety, but even that was welcome in the emergency.

The day after the two parties were united proved bright and sunny, and
Joe and Blake took a number of pictures of the players and the flood.

"But the river is still rising," reported Mr. Ringold, with a worried
look, as he came back from a trip to the shore of the island. "If it
covers this place----"

"Where will we be?" asked Mr. Piper.

No one answered him.

And that the water might rise even high enough to completely cover the
island seemed very possible, for, in spite of the brightness of the
morning, it rained hard in the afternoon.

Inch by inch the waters rose. Faster and madder they swirled past the
island on either side. Gradually the area of land grew smaller and
smaller.

"We shall have to move the tents," said Mr. Ringold, on the second day.
"We must go to the highest point possible."

It was hard work shifting camp in the rain, but it had to be done.
Finally the white canvas houses were set up on the top of the knoll
whence Blake had looked down to see their friends whom they sought.

And still the rain came down, and still the waters rose.

"Another day, at this rate, and it will be all over--except the
swimming," said C. C., grimly.

"Can't we make a raft?" asked Blake. "We have an axe, and there are
trees to be cut down."

"Good!" cried Mr. Ringold. "We should have thought of that before. We'll
build a raft! On that we may float to safety."

                              CHAPTER XXV

                          THE GOVERNMENT BOAT

But building a raft was not an easy matter. True, the trees could be cut
down, but our friends were not skillful woodsmen, and there was nothing
with which to bind the logs together. There were some tent ropes, but
they were needed to keep up the canvas shelters as long as possible.

"We'll do the best we can, though," decided Mr. Ringold, as he and the
men and boys labored at the raft.

They hastened with the work, for the water crept higher and higher. By
using tough withes, and wild grapevines, they managed to bind the logs
fairly well, but, at best, the raft was a very frail affair.

"I'll never trust myself on that!" declared Miss Shay, shuddering.

"I don't much fancy it myself," admitted Mr. Piper.

"But it will be better than staying here and getting--well, getting your
feet wet," spoke Blake. He was going to say "drowned," but changed his
mind.

Higher and higher came the water. There was now only a space of not more
than a hundred feet square, to which the refugees had retreated as an
area of safety. The raft floated in the water, moored by a long rope of
twisted grapevine, and ready for our friends to embark on it.

Packages of food were made ready to be taken along, and also a keg of
fresh water. The water supply troubled them, as the spring was now
covered by the flood, and all they had was some which they had stored
for just that emergency.

"We'll take along the tents," said Mr. Ringold. "They'll come in useful,
as shelter on the raft."

"And we'll have to take to the raft in the morning, I think," Mr. Piper
said. "At the rate the river is rising, we won't have ground under our
feet much longer than that."

Gloomy, uncertain and miserable was that night. The campfire, which had
hitherto been kept up, not without a great deal of work, went out in the
rain, and, save for a few lanterns, there was no light. Naturally there
was no heat, and cold victuals were the portion of the refugees.

Still no one complained, even C. C. maintaining a brave front in the
face of danger and privation. Everything possible was made ready for
embarking on the raft in the morning. After that----

No one knew what would happen.

"I suppose we'll have to abandon everything," said Birdie Lee, talking
to Joe and Blake, after "supper," if so the meal could be designated.

"Well, I'm going to stick to the films and the camera to the last!"
exclaimed Blake.

"That's what!" cried Joe. "We may get to some place where we'll be able
to get a few more pictures."

The night passed slowly and miserably. At the first streak of dawn Blake
was astir, ready to help take down the tents and load the raft.

But, as he looked toward the place where it had been tied, he saw only
the twisted end of the grapevine cable.

"The raft is gone!" he cried. "It's been carried away in the flood!"

"What's that?" called Joe, hardly believing.

"The raft is gone! And our last chance is gone with it!"

Hurriedly they all came out of the tents. It was but too true. The
rising waters had pulled and tugged at the raft, until they had carried
it down stream.

There was no time to make another. Already the space on which the
refugees had taken shelter was growing smaller. Inch by inch the waters
rose. The pegs of one of the tents, in which supplies were kept, were
now being lapped by the muddy waves.

"Oh, for a boat!" cried Blake.

"We've got to do something!" yelled Joe. "We can't stay here much
longer."

That was evident to all. Yet what could be done?

"Cut down some trees!" cried Mr. Ringold. "We can use them for life
preservers, and perhaps float to safety. Cut down trees!"

"This means good-bye to our films!" sighed Blake.

"If not good-bye to ourselves," echoed his chum.

There was little time left. With the one axe, and the camp hatchet, the
men began chopping away at the trees on the summit of the hill, where
the refugees had made their last stand against the rising waters. They
could remain there but an hour longer, at most.

Blake and Joe carried their camera and waterproof packages of exposed
film, to the dryest place they could find, in one of the tents.

"We can't take any food with us, when we float down on the logs," said
Mr. Piper, sadly.

No one had the heart to answer him.

They were now gathered together in a space about fifty feet across, on
the very summit of the hill. Several trees grew there, and, by climbing
into them, it might be possible to remain above the rising water a
little longer. But would even this respite save them? It did not seem
possible.

The tree trunks had been felled, and were in readiness. They would make
but poor life preservers at best, but better than nothing.

Inch by inch the water rose. Birdie Lee, Miss Shay and some of the other
actresses were in a group, looking at each other with tear-stained
faces. It seemed the end of everything.

Suddenly, through the moisture-laden air, came a shrill whistle.

"What's that?" cried Blake.

"Sounded like a steamboat!" answered Joe.

"It _is_ a steamboat!" called Birdie Lee, as she looked down the flooded
river. "See! There she comes! Oh, we are saved!"

"Thank the dear Lord," echoed Miss Shay.

Pushing her way up against the powerful current, was a big boat--a
steamer--from the funnels of which belched black smoke.

"Wave something!"

"Call to them!"

"Make them hear us!"

"Show a signal!"

Thus cried the refugees, as they saw help approaching. In another
instant the boys and men raised their voices in a united shout, and
coats and caps were frantically waved to attract the attention of the
pilot of the vessel.

"He sees us! He's coming!" cried Blake, joyfully.

"And just about in time, too," added Joe, for the water was creeping
higher and higher.

With loud blasts of the whistle the pilot indicated that he had seen the
signals of distress, and was coming to the rescue. In quick time a small
boat was lowered, and a few minutes later the refugees were safe on
board the steamer, which proved to be a government boat, sent out to aid
in the rescue work.

"And we've saved our films and cameras, too!" cried Joe, for the moving
picture apparatus, as well as some of the personal effects of the
stranded ones, had been brought away from the summit of the island,
which alone was out of water, now.

"Yes, and if we get a chance we'll use up the rest of the undeveloped
film, and get more flood pictures," added Blake.

"We'll leave you at the first large town," said the captain. "I guess
the flood is at its height now. It won't get much higher, and there
isn't much use in me going farther up the river until I take care of the
passengers I've already picked up."

Accordingly he turned back, and that afternoon our friends and several
others were taken ashore. The place where they were landed was within a
few miles of a good-sized town, and they found quarters there, being
well looked after by the hospitable inhabitants.

"Well, we're safe, anyhow," murmured Blake.

"Yes, and no more Mississippi life for me--especially in a flood," added
Joe. "I've had all I want."

But the boys were not quite done with the flood. There were two or three
more days of high water, and in that time they managed to get some
wonderful pictures, going out in a hired boat. Then, having no more
undeveloped film, they packed up their cameras, and waited for the
waters to subside.

The rains ceased, the sun came out, and the Mississippi River began to
assume its normal level. Gradually the distressing scenes of the flood
disappeared.

"Well, we certainly got some great pictures," said Blake, when the last
of the reels had been packed up for shipment to New York.

"That's so!" agreed his chum, "and we've got a great story to tell."

"It's been about the most exciting time we ever had, since we got into
this business," went on Blake.

"Not even excepting earthquake land," laughed Joe. "I wonder if we'll
ever duplicate this?"

And whether they did or not may be learned by reading the next book in
this series, to be called: "The Moving Picture Boys at Panama; Or,
Stirring Adventures Along the Great Canal."

And now, I believe, I have told you all there is to tell concerning the
adventures of Blake and Joe in the big Mississippi River flood. With the
going down of the waters all danger was passed, though the peril had
been great, and the toll of lives and property heavy. But, aside from
the loss of some personal belongings, and the films which the theatrical
company had taken, matters were not so bad. And the loss of the dramatic
films was more than balanced by the ones taken by Joe and Blake of the
big inundation.

By a lucky chance a clew was obtained to the stolen films of the relief
train, and others, taken at that time. As had been suspected, Munson,
or, rather, the Pullman car porter, whom he had bribed to do so, had
stolen the films. But when an attempt was made to exhibit them our
friends heard about it and secured the valuable celluloid strips. This
was as far as Munson's plot went.

"Well, what are you going to do now?" asked Birdie Lee, of Blake and
Joe, when they were once more on their way home, away from the flooded
district, that was rapidly drying up.

"I know what I'm going to do," said Blake.

"What?" asked Joe.

"I'm going back to that farm, and finish out my vacation," answered his
chum.

"And I think I'll send the rest of the theatrical company along with
you," said Mr. Ringold. "They are certainly entitled to a rest after
what they've suffered."

And so, for a time, we will take leave of our moving picture boys and
their associates, and say good-bye.

                                THE END

                          THE TOM SWIFT SERIES

                           By VICTOR APPLETON

         UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.

These spirited tales, convey in a realistic way, the wonderful advances
in land and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed upon the
memory and their reading is productive only of good.

                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
                 TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
                 TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE
                 TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER
                 TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL
                 TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH
                 TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS
                 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE

              GROSSET & DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,    NEW YORK

                     THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES

                           BY VICTOR APPLETON

         UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.

Moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this
line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films
are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures
to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in
the Wild West, among the cowboys and Indians, thrilling rescues along
the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage
beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of
earthquakes. The volumes teem with adventures and will be found
interesting from first chapter to last.

             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AND THE FLOOD
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS UNDER THE SEA
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE WAR FRONT
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON FRENCH BATTLEFIELDS
             MOVING PICTURE BOYS' FIRST SHOWHOUSE
             MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT SEASIDE PARK
             MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON BROADWAY
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS' OUTDOOR EXHIBITION
             THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS' NEW IDEA

              GROSSET & DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,    NEW YORK

                    THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH SERIES

                          By GRAHAM B. FORBES

Never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than Frank Allen,
the hero of this series of boys' tales, and never was there a better
crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the School. All
boys will read these stories with deep interest. The rivalry between the
towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and counterplots to
win the champions, at baseball, at football, at boat racing, at track
athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number. Any lad reading one
volume of this series will surely want the others.

             THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH
                 Or The All Around Rivals of the School

             THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND
                 Or Winning Out by Pluck

             THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER
                 Or The Boat Race Plot that Failed

             THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON
                 Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup

             THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE ICE
                 Or Out for the Hockey Championship

             THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN TRACK ATHLETICS
                 Or A Long Run that Won

             THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN WINTER SPORTS
                 Or Stirring Doings on Skates and Iceboats

        12mo. Illustrated. Handsomely bound in cloth, with cover
                     design and wrappers in colors.

              GROSSET & DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,    NEW YORK

                        THE OUTDOOR CHUMS SERIES

                        By CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN

The outdoor chums are four wide-awake lads, sons of wealthy men of a
small city located on a lake. The boys love outdoor life, and are
greatly interested in hunting, fishing, and picture taking. They have
motor cycles, motor boats, canoes, etc., and during their vacations go
everywhere and have all sorts of thrilling adventures. The stories give
full directions for camping out, how to fish, how to hunt wild animals
and prepare the skins for stuffing, how to manage a canoe, how to swim,
etc. Full of the spirit of outdoor life.

         THE OUTDOOR CHUMS
             Or The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club.

         THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE LAKE
             Or Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island.

         THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST
             Or Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge.

         THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE GULF
             Or Rescuing the Lost Balloonists.

         THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AFTER BIG GAME
             Or Perilous Adventures in the Wilderness.

         THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON A HOUSEBOAT
             Or The Rivals of the Mississippi.

         THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE BIG WOODS
             Or The Rival Hunters at Lumber Run.

         THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AT CABIN POINT
             Or The Golden Cup Mystery.

           12mo. Averaging 240 pages. Illustrated. Handsomely
                            bound in Cloth.

              GROSSET & DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,    NEW YORK

                    THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SERIES

                           By LAURA LEE HOPE

                 Author of "The Bobbsey Twins Series."

      12mo. BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING

The adventures of Ruth and Alice DeVere. Their father, a widower, is an
actor who has taken up work for the "movies." Both girls wish to aid him
in his work and visit various localities to act in all sorts of
pictures.

THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS, Or First Appearance in Photo Dramas.

  Having lost his voice, the father of the girls goes into the movies
  and the girls follow. Tells how many "parlor dramas" are filmed.

THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT OAK FARM, Or Queer Happenings While Taking
Rural Plays.

  Full of fun in the country, the haps and mishaps of taking film plays,
  and giving an account of two unusual discoveries.

THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SNOWBOUND, Or The Proof on the Film.

  A tale of winter adventures in the wilderness, showing how the
  photo-play actors sometimes suffer.

THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS UNDER THE PALMS, Or Lost in the Wilds of
Florida.

  How they went to the land of palms, played many parts in dramas before
  the camera; were lost, and aided others who were also lost.

THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT ROCKY RANCH, Or Great Days Among the
Cowboys.

  All who have ever seen moving pictures of the great West will want to
  know just how they are made. This volume gives every detail and is
  full of clean fun and excitement.

THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT SEA, Or a Pictured Shipwreck that Became
Real.

  A thrilling account of the girls' experiences on the water.

THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS, Or The Sham Battles at Oak Farm.

  The girls play important parts in big battle scenes and have plenty of
  hard work along with considerable fun.

              GROSSET & DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,    NEW YORK

                        THE OUTDOOR GIRLS SERIES

                           By LAURA LEE HOPE

  Author of the popular "Bobbsey Twin Books" and "Bunny Brown" Series.

         UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.

These tales take in the various adventures participated in by several
bright, up-to-date girls who love outdoor life. They are clean and
wholesome, free from sensationalism, and absorbing from the first
chapter to the last.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS OF DEEPDALE
                Or Camping and Tramping for Fun and Health.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT RAINBOW LAKE
                Or Stirring Cruise of the Motor Boat Gem.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A MOTOR CAR
                Or The Haunted Mansion of Shadow Valley.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A WINTER CAMP
                Or Glorious Days on Skates and Ice Boats.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN FLORIDA
                Or Wintering in the Sunny South.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT OCEAN VIEW
                Or The Box that Was Found in the Sand.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS ON PINE ISLAND
                Or A Cave and What it Contained.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN ARMY SERVICE
                Or Doing Their Bit for Uncle Sam.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT THE HOSTESS HOUSE
                Or Doing Their Best for the Soldiers.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT BLUFF POINT
                Or A Wreck and A Rescue.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT WILD ROSE LODGE
                Or The Hermit of Moonlight Falls.

            THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN THE SADDLE
                Or The Girl Miner of Gold Run.

              GROSSET & DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,    NEW YORK

                    THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH SERIES

                        By GERTRUDE W. MORRISON

      12mo. BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING.

Here is a series full of the spirit of high school life of to-day. The
girls are real flesh-and-blood characters, and we follow them with
interest in school and out. There are many contested matches on track
and field, and on the water, as well as doings in the classroom and on
the school stage. There is plenty of fun and excitement, all clean, pure
and wholesome.

THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH, Or Rivals for all Honors.

  A stirring tale of high school life, full of fun, with a touch of
  mystery and a strange initiation.

THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON LAKE LUNA, Or The Crew That Won.

  Telling of water sports and fun galore, and of fine times in camp.

THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH AT BASKETBALL, Or The Great Gymnasium Mystery.

  Here we have a number of thrilling contests at basketball and in
  addition, the solving of a mystery which had bothered the high school
  authorities for a long while.

THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON THE STAGE, Or The Play That Took the Prize.

  How the girls went in for theatricals and how one of them wrote a play
  which afterward was made over for the professional stage and brought
  in some much-needed money.

THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON TRACK AND FIELD, Or The Girl Champions of
the School League.

  This story takes in high school athletics in their most approved and
  up-to-date fashion. Full of fun and excitement.

THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH IN CAMP, Or The Old Professor's Secret.

  The girls went camping on Acorn Island and had a delightful time at
  boating, swimming and picnic parties.

              GROSSET & DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,    NEW YORK

                        THE BOBBSEY TWINS BOOKS

                        For Little Men and Women

                           By LAURA LEE HOPE

                Author of "The Bunny Brown" Series, Etc.

      12mo. DURABLY BOUND. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING.

Copyright publications which cannot be obtained elsewhere. Books that
charm the hearts of the little ones, and of which they never tire.

                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN THE COUNTRY
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT THE SEASHORE
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SCHOOL
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SNOW LODGE
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON A HOUSEBOAT
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT MEADOW BROOK
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT HOME
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN A GREAT CITY
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON BLUEBERRY ISLAND
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON THE DEEP BLUE SEA
                 THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN THE GREAT WEST

              GROSSET & DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,    NEW YORK