“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.”

Once on shore again, the girls’ confidence returned and they hurried silently through the woods toward the spot where they had seen the figure.  Then Betty, who had taken the lead, suddenly motioned to them to stop.

She had caught a glimpse through the trees of the man, who resembled more than ever a scarecrow in his crazy makeshift garments—­ and at the sight of him her heart unaccountably skipped a beat.

Her thoughts had not gone beyond this moment.  Strangely enough all her energy had been concentrated upon reaching the man before he disappeared.  But now that they had succeeded so far she was at a loss what to do next.

But at that moment she inadvertently stepped on a dry twig that snapped sharply under her foot, and at the sound the man had turned fiercely, like an animal at bay.  Then he wheeled about and made as though to flee for the shelter of the woods.

In this emergency Betty followed impulse.  She ran out into the open, calling to him wildly that his sons were alive.  Not to run away, because his sons were safe and well.  They were coming to him——­

The pitiful wreck of a man paused in his flight as the import of the words seemed to sink into his befuddled brain, but he turned upon the Little Captain a look of ferocious hatred that would have terrified a less courageous girl than Betty.  But her whole heart was in her mission, and she had utterly forgotten herself.

“Won’t you please believe me?” she said, advancing toward him, hands outstretched pleadingly.  “I know what I’m talking about.  Your sons, Arnold and Jimmy——­”

As though the names of his boys had released some cord in his brain, the man cried out hoarsely: 

“Jimmy and Arnold—­ my sons, my little boys!” Then, turning fiercely to Betty, he cried:  “You’re not lying to me, are you?  Because I’ll throw you into the river!  I’ll cut you into little pieces!”