A RACE WITH DEATH
In close confinement it is all over in a minute in these cases. The
victim is poisoned and suffocated like a rat in a hole. Surprising as it
may seem, this deadly poison works faster than its victim can act. And
with darkness for its ally the only hope lies in presence of mind and
quick action.
Pee-wee Harris was a scout. Laugh at him and make fun of him as you
will, he was a scout. He was at once the littlest scout and the biggest
scout that ever scouting had known. He boasted and bungled, but out of
his bungling came triumph. He fell, oh such falls as he fell! But he
always landed right side up. He could save the world with a blunder. And
then boast of the blunder.
He was not a motorist, he was a scout. Wrong or right (and he was
usually wrong), he was a scout. He was a scout with something left
over. Like a flash of lightning he jumped into the car and shut off the
switch, but the imprisoned air was already heavy with the deadly fumes
and his head swam. Shutting off the switch would not save him; nothing
would save him unless his mind and body acted together with lightning
swiftness.
Say that he made a "bull" of it in starting the engine, and you are
welcome to say that of him. But after that the spirit and training of
the scout possessed him. _You_, with all respect to you, would have died
a frightful death in that black prison.
Pee-wee Harris, scout, tore his handkerchief from around his cut finger,
unscrewed the cap of the radiator, dipped his handkerchief into the
hole, bit off two small pieces of the warm, dripping cloth, and stuffed
them into his ears. The wet handkerchief he stuffed into his mouth. And
so Scout Harris gained a few precious moments, _only a few_, in which to
make a desperate effort to find a way out!
You would have forgotten about the radiator full of water, I dare
say....
Roy Blakeley (Silver Fox Patrol and not in this story, thank goodness)
said, long after these adventures were over, that a handkerchief stuffed
in Pee-wee's mouth was a good idea and that it was a pity it had been
removed. But Pee-wee Harris was a scout, he was a couple of scouts, and
he saved his life by scout law and knowledge. And there you are.
Acting quickly he now groped his way around to the rear of the car. It
was odd how quickly his mind worked in his desperate predicament. His
eyes stung and his throat pained him and he knew that he had won only
the chance of a race with death. But what more does a scout want than a
fighting chance? His wits, spurred by the emergency, were now alert and
he recalled that the men who had stolen the car had rolled one door shut
and slammed another. So perhaps the rolling door had been barred inside.
Where the small door was he did not know, and there was no time now to
make a groping exploration of the sides. The rolling door must be in
back of the car, he knew that.
He was dizzy now and on the point of falling. His wrists tingled and his
head ached acutely. Only his towering resolve kept him on his feet.
Groping from behind the car he touched the boards and felt along them
for some indication of the door. Presently his hand came upon an iron
band set in a large staple through which was inserted a huge wooden
plug. This he pulled out and hauling on the staple slowly rolled open a
great wide door.
A fresh gust of autumn wind blew in upon him, a cleansing and refreshing
restorative, as if it had been waiting without to welcome the sturdy
little scout into the vast, fragrant woods which he loved. And the
bright stars shone overhead, and the air was laden with the pungent
scent of autumn. It seemed as if all Nature, solemn and companionable,
was there to greet the little mascot of the Raven Patrol, First
Bridgeboro Troop, B.S.A.
The car of a thousand delights had so far afforded very few delights to
Pee-wee Harris.