“Ay, Rollo, my lad,” called the scout, “it’s rather a cramped condition we’re in, and all fur want o’ help.” The young ranger was not over two hundred yards away, and had no difficulty in catching the scout’s words. “Then you shall want no longer, old friend,” replied the ranger; “I will assist you at once.” “But how kin ye, my lad?” asked the scout. “I will hasten up the river to King’s Ford and get the old ferryman’s boat,” returned the youth. “That’ll do, my gallant boy; jist run the boat under this ’ere tree and we’ll be ready to drop down into it.” With a wave of his scarlet cap, the ranger dashed away on his mission. It was about three miles to what was known as King’s Ford, where an old half-breed by the name of King had built a ferry-boat, for the purpose of transferring the loaded teams of settlers from one side to the other during high waters. Our friends did not expect the return of the ranger with the boat under two hours, but scarcely an hour had elapsed when, to their surprise, they saw the youth with the boat put around the bend in the stream above, not over three hundred yards distant. It is necessary that we should here give a brief description of the ferry-boat, for reasons which will be made known hereafter. It was about twenty feet in length, by half that length in width, and constructed on the principle of a large canoe; then, in order to make it more convenient for loaded teams, a slab floor, or deck, was laid across the top from side to side, thus forming a hold about two feet deep beneath the slab deck. A pair of sweeps and a tiller constituted the propelling and guiding apparatuses of the craft. At the prow of the boat was an opening or hatchway, about two feet square, leading into the hold. This opening was covered with a stout slab in which was fixed a ring and staple for raising. Old Tumult hailed the approach of the ranger with a wild shout, and then they began to prepare to leave their elevated retreat. Rollo had no need of the sweeps. The force of the current carried the boat along quite rapidly, and he had only to stand at the tiller and keep the boat in the proper course to pass over the inundated island. When the boat was within fifty yards of our friends, Old Tumult shouted: “Ye made a purty quick trip up to the Ford, lad.” “It would have been, had I went to the ferry, but the fact of it is, I found the boat stranded about a mile above here.” “Possible!” exclaimed the scout, while Town. peered through the foliage at the ranger with a puzzled expression upon his face. “Yes,” returned the youth, bending slightly upon the tiller; “the flood had washed it from its mooring and drifted it down stream about two miles, where it lodged, and where I found it.” “Wal, it’s all luck--bear to the left, lad, bear to the left--let the prow strike the tree midways--bear hard--there--smoke of tortures!”