But at that they had made good time through their chase and within a
very few minutes the last bend of the river showed them the milldam.
The place was deserted.

"I guess Mr. Aikens persuaded Tod's father to go back home and get
breakfast and rest up a bit," remarked Dave. "If there doesn't
happen to be a boat on this side of the river we may have to wait
some time for that breakfast you've been promising me the last
ninety-eight miles. We sure can't get across the dam, with all that
water rushing over."

"I'll swim it before I wait," grimly declared Jerry. "Do you suppose
Mr. Aikens took the mill boat?"

"Most likely. Where'll you try it, below or above? Swimming, I
mean."

"No chance below, with that current. But I guess we won't need to. I
see Pete Galpin's clam-boat down at his dock. It leaks like sin, but
if one bails while the other rows I guess we can make it."

No one was astir at Galpin's shanty, a houseboat pulled high and dry
on shore, and almost hidden by great piles of driftwood snagged upon
the bank to serve as winter fuel. Old Pete Galpin lived there all
alone, fishing and clamming and occasionally taking a wood-cutting
contract to help out through the scant winter months. Once he had
been known to work with an ice-cutting gang, but quit because he was
afraid he'd make so much money that it would tempt somebody to rob
him.