herself flat on the ground she wormed her way back to the brink of the
river-bank. Cautiously, without making a sound, she peered through the
tall grass and weeds that fringed the rim above the eddy.

The boat, which some kindly impulse of the river had drawn so gently
aside from the stronger current that would have carried it down the
rapids to the certain destruction waiting at Elbow Rock, still rested
with its bow grounded on the shore, against which the eddying water had
pushed it. But the thing that had so startled Judy was a man who was
lying, apparently unconscious, on the wet and muddy bottom-boards of the
little craft.

Breathlessly, the girl, looking down from the top of the bank, watched
for some movement; but the dirty huddled heap of wretched humanity
was so still that she could not guess whether it was living or dead.
Fearfully, she noted that there were no oars in the boat, nor gun, nor
fishing-tackle of any sort. The man's hat was missing. His clothing was
muddy and disarranged. His position was such that she could not see the
face.

Drawing back, Judy looked cautiously about; then, picking up a heavy
clod of dirt from the ploughed edge of the garden, and crouching again
at the brink of the bank, ready for instant flight, she threw the
clod into the water near the boat. The still form in the boat made no
movement following the splash. Selecting a smaller clod, the girl threw
the bit of dirt into the stern of the boat itself, where it broke in
fragments. And, at this, the figure moved slightly.

"Hit's alive, all right," commented Judy to herself, with a grin of
satisfaction, at the result of her investigation. "But hit's sure time