unning an
inch deep.

"Stay where you are, Charley," bade his father. "You're all right. We
can't do better."

That was so; and so long as his father and Mr. Grigsby were not
frightened, Charley determined that he need not be, either. So he lay,
high and pretty dry (the rain beat through the thatch in a thin mist),
and wondered where all that water came from. He also wondered how
Maria and Francisco were faring. But probably they knew how to take
care of themselves, because they lived down here.

The storm passed; on a sudden the rain stopped, the lightning died
away; and Charley fell asleep in earnest.

When he awakened the hut was pink with morning. His father was
standing in the doorway, looking out; Mr. Grigsby was gone. His father
turned, as Charley stirred; and said:

"Hello. Ready to start?"

"Yes. Is it time?"

"High time. We overslept a little. You'd better tumble out. There's
some coffee on the table, waiting for you. Drink it, and we'll go on
and finish breakfast in the boat."

Out piled Charley, hastily swallowed a cup of coffee, and was
ready--all but washing, which he determined he could do at the river.
He was stiff and flea-bitten, but otherwise felt all right.

He followed his tall father out into the fresh morning. Everything was
dripping and soggy, but the sun was going to shine, and dry the world
off. Together they trudged through the wetness, into the village.
Other gold seekers were trooping down to the river, and the villagers,
yawning and weary-eyed after the dance, were watching them, and
collecting money due for entertainment.

Mr. Grigsby was standing on the river bank, leaning on his rifle and
gazing about rather puzzled, while canoe after canoe was pushing off.

"No hurry," he spoke, when Charley and Mr. Adams arrived in haste.
"Save your breath."

"Why's that?" asked Mr. Adams, sharply.

"Our canoe's gone, and so are our boatmen!"

VIII

A TRICK--AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

That was so! Here was the very spot where the cayuca had been tethered
to a pole. Charley remembered the pole, forked at the upper end. Only
the forked tip was visible, for the river had risen amazingly from the
rain, and was running over its bank. But the pole was sticking
out--and no canoe was attached to it. Of canoe, and of Maria and
Francisco, not a sign appeared.

Two thirds of the other canoes had gone; the others were rapidly
leaving, as their occupants piled into them.