The Happy Valley Mystery

Jim! Here, take the glasses; look!”
    Trixie, in spite of Honey’s restraining hand, leaned over, and the boat tilted dangerously.
    “Trixie!” Jim shouted. “Trixie Belden! Sit down!” Startled, Trixie realized suddenly where she was, stumbled at Jim’s sharp voice, tried to regain her balance, and fell into the river!
     

Deadly Danger • 16
     
    SWIM! KEEP PADDLING!” Jim cried to Trixie. “Keep circling the boat if you can. I’ll pick you up. Honey, hold it steady. Here, Trixie, here on this side!”
    Trixie, her mouth full of muddy river water, paddled vigorously to keep afloat. “Don’t worry,” she called to Jim and Honey. “I’ve been overboard before!”
    “Not in a current like this,” Jim said. “Listen to me, Trixie. You’re in deadly danger! Hold steady! Honey, hold that oar!”
    Honey, white-faced and shocked, sat like a marble statue in the boat, never touching the oar. The puppy in her lap wiggled and whimpered, his small head against her shoulder.
    “Honey!” Jim called. “Snap out of it!” With his oar, he dipped water and splashed it on her face. He had to have her help. Startled, Honey recovered and seized her oar.
    “Keep that oar steady!” Jim said to her sternly. “Now, Trixie, now—there we are—wait a minute; don’t try it now. I’ll hold the boat a little closer. Now!”
    Trixie, paddling hard, reached for the boat, missed, reached again, and tried to climb in on Honey’s side.
    “Not there!” Jim called frantically. “Can’t you see I’ve pulled the boat around so you can get in the bow? There, now, let loose, Trixie!”
    But Honey, so anxious to get Trixie back in the boat, leaned forward too far. The boat tipped, then capsized, and they were all in the water! The little puppy, terrified, paddled vigorously at Jim’s side.
    “Oh, Jim!” Trixie wailed. “See what I’ve done!”
    “Keep still, both of you,” Jim said. “Don’t waste breath talking. Thank goodness you can swim. Hold on to that oar, Trixie. I have the other one. I’ll right the boat. There! Over it goes-and the puppy into it, and the oar. Shove the other one back to me, Trixie— there—in it goes, too. Just keep afloat and swim in the direction of the shore. We have to get away from this current!”
    “What will you do?” Trixie said. “We won’t leave you.”
    “Trixie, just please don’t talk. Do as I told you! I'll pull the boat after me and swim toward you. Don’t swallow any water!”
    Honey and Trixie, their clothing hampering them seriously, churned the water and, with the extra strength born of fear, managed to propel themselves slowly, surely, away from the current.
    Back of them, Jim made slower progress, dragging the boat and trying to swim with one arm.
    “You can wait for me now,” he shouted. “Tread water if you can. When I reach you, stay on opposite sides of me. I’ll try to pull the boat in between you.”
    Honey and Trixie splashed hard, trying to stay, as nearly as possible, in one spot. The water was a little quieter. The downpour of rain had slackened.
    Once the boat slipped away from Jim, but he turned quickly and retrieved it. Literally inching his way, he finally guided the light craft between the two girls. Then he held the stem low and told Trixie to ease herself aboard.
    This accomplished, he swam around to the other side and helped Honey in; then, with both girls in the stem, he clambered into the bow himself.
    Exhausted, the three of them sat for a moment saying nothing. The half-drowned puppy snuggled close to Trixie for warmth, its little tongue caressing her hand.
    Jim reached under the seat, opened a watertight compartment, and pulled out a bucket and a big can.
    “Start bailing!” he called when he had recovered his breath. “Take turns! Were almost level with the water!”
    All three bailed. It didn’t take long to reduce the water load to practically nothing.
    “But were floating backward!” Trixie called frantically as she stopped bailing and looked up.
    They were, indeed. Jim had forgotten, in his eagerness to ease the load of water in the boat, that the backwash could carry them toward the river.
    “Grab the oar!” he called, and he seized the one on his side. “Pull hard!” he ordered them. “Pull! Trixie, what’s the matter with you? Are you paralyzed?”
    “I’m not,” Trixie answered. “But I just thought of something.”
    “Forget it. Think about that red barn up there ahead —pull for it, Trixie! Come