"Good," said Betty softly, adding as she threw all her weight against her
oar, "now let's keep still and work."

It was queer how they referred to that presence at the head of the falls
as "It." Some way, in the weird moonlight, under the more than unusual
circumstances, it seemed almost impossible to give the thing a name.

"Was it Professor Dempsey?" they kept asking themselves over and over
again. But he had committed suicide. Or at least they had seen him fall
into the river, and they could have vowed that he did not come out again.
They had searched both sides of the river. How could they have missed him?
And yet, if that motionless figure at the head of the falls was really
Professor Dempsey, he must have been washed ashore that day and evaded
them as he had succeeded in evading them so many times before.

And all the time the roar of the falls was growing louder and louder in
their ears and they knew that theirs was a race with life and death.

Could they succeed in reaching the opposite bank before the deadly current
of the river should suck them over the falls, to almost certain
annihilation?

The answer to the question came a moment: later when, without warning, the
prow of the little boat struck on an unexpected projection of the shore
and they came to a standstill.

"Thank heaven!" said Betty under her breath as Mollie jumped out and
pulled the craft further in to shore. "That was nearly the riskiest thing
you ever did, Betty Nelson."