As the night shut down and the rain began again, the party at Holloway's
had paid no attention to the rising flood. But on the other side of the
river the increasing depth of the water was narrowly watched.
"It's the biggest rise she's showed since Adam was a small boy!" Mr.
Jimson declared. "Looks like she'd make a clean sweep of some of these
bottomland farms below yere. Mr. Lomaine's goin' t' lose cash-dollars
befo' she's through kickin' up her heels--yo' take it from me!"
Mr. Jimson's audience consisted of his immediate family--a wife, lank
like himself, and six white-haired, lank children, like six human steps,
from the little toddler, hanging to the table-cloth and so getting his
balance, to a lank girl of fifteen or thereabouts. In addition, there
was Curly Smith.
Curly had been taken right into the Jimson family when he had first come
along on a flatboat, the crew of which had treated him so badly that he
had left it and applied at the cotton warehouse for work. He worked
every day beyond his strength, if the truth were told, and for very poor
pay; but he was glad of decent housing.
The world had never used a runaway worse than it had used Curly. All the
way down the river from Pee Dee--where his money had run out, and his
transportation, too--the boy had been knocked about. And farther north,
as Ruth Fielding and Helen knew, Curly Smith's path had not been strewn
with roses.
Therefore, if for no other reason, the boy who had run away to escape
arrest, would have remained with Mr. Jimson. The latter's rough good
nature seemed the friendliest thing Curly had ever known; but he was
scared when he recognized Ruth and Helen and knew that they were the
"little Miss Yanks" of whom he had heard the cotton warehouse boss
speak.
Here were two girls who knew him--knew him well when he was at home--right
in the very part of Dixie in which unwise Curly Smith had taken refuge.
Curly had no idea while coming down on the New Union Line boat to
Norfolk, that Ruth and Helen were aboard; nor had he recognized Helen
when he went to her rescue at the City Park zoo when the stag had so
startled her.
In the first place, he did not know that any of the Briarwood Hall girls
who had made their home with his grandmother for a few weeks in the
spring, had any intention of coming down to the Land of Cotton for a
part of their summer vacation.
It was a distinct shock to Curly when he brought the half-drowned cat
ashore that afternoon, to see Ruth and Helen as the guests of Nettie
Parsons. He did not know that the girls recognized him; but he was quite
sure they would see him if he continued to linger in the vicinity.
Therefore, Curly's mind was more taken up with plans for getting away
from Mr. Jimson than it was with the boss' remarks about the rising
river. Not until some time after supper one of the children ran in with
the announcement that there was a "big fire acrosst the river" was the
boy shaken out of his secret ponderings.
"That's got t' be the hotel, I'll be whip-sawed if 'taint!" declared Mr.
Jimson, starting out into the now drizzling rain without his hat.
Curly followed, because the rest of the family showed interest; but he
really did not care. What was a burning hotel to him? Then he heard Mrs.
Jimson say:
"Ye don't mean that's Holloway's, Jimson?"
"That's what she be."
"And the bridge is down by this time."
"Sho's yo' bawn, Almiry. An' boats swep' away, too."
"An' like enough the water's clean up over that islan'. My land, Jimson!
that'll be dretful. Them folks is all caught like rats in a trap. Treed
by the river--an' the hotel afire."
"It looks like the up-river end of the hotel," said her husband.
"My land! what'll Mrs. Parsons say? If anything happens to her niece an'
them other gals----"
"I'll be whip-sawed! them little Miss Yanks is right there, ain't they?"
At that, Curly Smith woke up. "Say!" he cried. "Are Ruth Fielding and
Helen Cameron at that hotel that's afire?"
"Huh?" demanded Jimson. "Them little Miss Yanks?"
"Yes."
"If they stuck to Miss Nettie, they are," agreed the warehouse boss.
"And Jeffreys said he left 'em there, when he come back jest 'fo'
supper."
"Those girls in that burning building?" repeated Curly. "Say, Mr.
Jimson! you aren't going to stand here and do nothing about it, are
you?"
"Wal! what d'ye reckon we kin do?" asked the man, scratching his head in
a puzzled way. "There's more'n we-uns over there to rescue the ladies."
"And the river up all around them? And no boats?" demanded Curly.
"Sho'! I never thought of that," admitted the man. "Here's this old
bateau yere----"
"Can you and me row it?" asked Curly, sharply.
"Great grief! No!" exclaimed Jimson. "Not in a thousand years!"
"Can't we get some of the colored men to help?"
"I reckon we could. The hotel's more'n a mile below yere on the other
side and we might strike off across the river slantin' and hit the
island," Jimson said slowly.
"Le's try it, then!" cried the excited boy. "I'll run stir up the
negroes--shall I?"
"Better let me do that," said Jimson, with more firmness. "Almiry! gimme
my hat. If we kin do anything to help 'em----"
"Oh, Paw! look at them flames!" cried one of the children.
The fire seemed to shoot up suddenly in a pillar of flame and smoke. It
had burst through the upper floor of the cottage and was now writhing
out the chimney; but from this side of the river it still seemed to be
the hotel itself that was ablaze.
Curly had forgotten his idea of running away--for the present, at least.
He remembered what a "good sport" (as he expressed it) Ruth Fielding
was, and how she and her chum might be in danger across there at
Holloways.
If the hotel burned, where would the people go who were in it? With the
river rising momentarily, and threatening every small structure along
its banks with destruction, and no boats at hand, surely the situation
of the people in the hotel must be serious.
Curly went down to the edge of the water and found the big bateau. There
were huge sweeps for it, and four could be used to propel the craft,
while a fifth was needed to steer with.
The boy got these out and arranged everything for the start. When Jimson
came back with four lusty negroes--all hands from the warehouse and
gin-house--Curly was impatiently waiting for them. The fire across the
river had assumed greater proportions.
"That ain't the hotel, boss," said one of the negroes, with assurance.
"What is it, then?" demanded Jimson.
"It's got t' be the cottage dishyer side ob the hotel. But, fo'
goodness' sake! de hotel's gwine t' burn, too."
"And all them folkses in hit!" groaned another.
"Shut up and come on!" commanded Jimson. "We'll git acrosst and see
what's what."
"If we _kin_ git acrosst," grumbled another of the men. "Looks mighty
spasmdous t' _me_. Dat watah's sho' high."
But Curly was casting off the mooring, and in a moment the big, clumsy
boat swung out into the current.