timbers brought them in a line with the western bank, because
that was more familiar to the boys than the other, since Carson lay on
that side of the river toward the setting sun.

"I'm trying to make out where we are, Max," he explained, upon seeing
that the other was observing him curiously.

Bandy-legs uttered a loud and significant grunt.

"Say, Steve," he remarked with a touch of satire in his voice, "I can
tell you that much, if you're all mixed up. We're squattin' on the
remains of our bloomin' bridge, which used to cross the river in front
of Carson; yes-siree, and we seem to be takin' an unexpected voyage
downstream, without a port in sight. 'Water, water everywhere, and not
a drop to drink,' as the ship-wrecked sailor used to sing; only we
_could_ manage with this muddy stuff if we had to, because it ain't
salty, you know."

"How far have we come, Max?" Steve continued, anxious to know, and
pretending to pay no attention to Bandy-legs' humorous remarks.

"I'm trying to figure it out myself, Steve," admitted the other, who
had also been studying the shore line, though everything was so changed
during the high water that it was difficult to recognize land marks
that had previously been quite familiar to him; "and the best I can
make out is that we must be somewhere near Dixon's Point, where the
river makes that first sharp curve."

"And, Max, that's about fifteen miles below Carson, isn't it?" Steve
added, as he twisted his head the better to look down-stream again.

"Something like fifteen or sixteen, Steve."

"And if Asa French's place is twenty, we ought to strike in there right
soon, hadn't we, Max?"

"Before ten minutes more, like as not," Max told him.

Steve drew in a long breath. He was undoubtedly wondering what the
immediate future had in store for them, and whether some strange
fortune might not bring him in close touch with Bessie. He doubtless
had been picturing this girl friend of his in all sorts of thrilling
situations, owing to the rapidly rising river, and always with some one
that looked suspiciously like Steve Dowdy rushing valiantly to the
relief of the helpless ones.

Steve had once tried to play the hero part, and stopped what he
believed was a runaway horse, with Bessie in the vehicle, only to have
her scornfully tell him to mind his own business after that, since he
had spoiled her plans for proving that their old family nag still had
considerable speed left in him.