Got to get 'em out.

You're needed.

And don't be all day about it," he shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared among the trees.
The river was still rising, though more slowly, and as soon as they left the high ground they were splashing along ankle-deep in the water.
Winding in and out among the trees, they came upon a boat which had been hauled out the previous fall.

And three _chechaquos_, who had managed to get into the country thus far over the ice, had piled themselves into it, also their tent, sleds, and dogs.

But the boat was perilously near the ice-gorge, which growled and wrestled and over-topped it a bare dozen feet away.
"Come! Get out of this, you fools!" Jacob Welse shouted as he went past.
Del Bishop had told them to "get the hell out of there" when he ran by, and they could not understand.