A PANIC-STRICKEN CROWD
"Oh! Help! help!"
The cry reached Paul's ears between blasts of the howling wind; but he
never could have caught it had he not been so close to the wretched boy
who gave utterance to the appeal.
With every nerve strained to the utmost, the young patrol leader
continued to climb upward. He could see the tent flattened out like a
great pancake against the branches of the tree. It had opened as it
swept along, and the force of the gale had for the time being turned it
into a sort of balloon. This accounted for the carrying away of Nuthin,
who was a slender lad at best.
Paul found more or less difficulty in reaching a point where he could
come in contact with his comrade. Branches were in the way, and swayed
back and forth in a furious fashion as fresh gusts of wind caught them.
"I'm coming, Albert; hold out a little!" Paul shouted as he strained;
and it was perhaps strange that in such a period of excitement he
unconsciously used the real name of Cypher, something few people save
his parents and teachers did, when A. Cypher stood so handsomely for
Nuthin.
One more desperate effort, and Paul, by stretching out his hand, found
he could touch the other. Doubtless the contact sent a thrill of hope
through the hanging scout.
"How are you caught?" Paul called, as he managed to force himself still
nearer by hanging on to the branches with his other hand, and twisting
both legs around the same.
"I think a piece of rope is wrapped around my body. Anyway it hurts like
fun, and my arms seem all numb," he heard Nuthin reply.
This sort of an explanation just fitted in with what Paul had
conjectured. He had found it hard to believe that Nuthin would be so
frightened as to cling desperately to the flying tent, when he knew that
it was being carried off by the gale. He must have been an involuntary
passenger of the airship that quickly ended its short flight in a
neighboring tree.
Fortunately Paul had his stout pocket knife with him. He never went
without it; and furthermore, it was his habit to keep all of the blades
very sharp. If a knife is going to be worth a grain of salt it should be
sharp. Many a fellow has realized this with dismay when some situation
has confronted him calling for a keen blade, and has found his knife
almost worthless to solve the difficulty.
Perhaps had he been asked later just how he managed to get that knife
out of his pocket, and the largest blade opened, Paul might have some
trouble in telling.
The first thing he knew, he was again pushing himself inch by inch
closer to the boy who was hung up in the tree, and feeling for the rope
that held Nuthin fast.
When, after a little, he had found it, Paul prepared to press the edge
of his knife against the same.
"Oh! please hurry, Paul; I'm awfully afraid the tree will go down!" he
heard Nuthin cry.
But Paul had another problem to face. If he cut suddenly there would be
nothing to support the other, and Nuthin might have an ugly fall through
small branches that would scratch his face still more than it had been
already cut.
"Can you feel anything under your feet?" he asked, almost in the other's
ear.
"Yes, I've been standing on a small limb; but sometimes I slip off when
that wind swings the tree so. I'm deathly sick, Paul, and dizzy. But one
of my hands is loose now. Tell me what to do, please," came back
instantly, as loud as Nuthin could speak.
"That's good," declared Paul. "Feel around just above you. Can't you
get hold of a branch or two, and hang on when I cut the rope? I want to
keep you from falling when the support goes."
"Why, yes, I've got hold of one, Paul," answered Nuthin, who seemed to
catch a trifle of the other's coolness; "and my feet are on the one
below, now."
Paul dared not wait another second. He pressed the blade against the
rope, and with a determined movement severed the strands.
Then, dropping his handy knife, he immediately threw his arm around the
body of Nuthin. Possibly the other might have managed to keep from
falling; but still he was in a state of panic, and his muscles were
weakened by their recent confinement.
"It's all right!" Paul shouted, when Nuthin gave utterance to a shriek:
"I've got you safe! Now, try to work your way over here. Take it easy,
and you'll make it, never fear."
And Nuthin did. By degrees he seemed to gather courage, and was able to
help himself. In times of stress there is nothing like confidence. It
carries nearly everything before it, and brings victory where otherwise
defeat must have won the day.
Presently Nuthin had reached the body of the tree, and was descending.
There was really no need to urge him to haste, for he could not get
down to the ground a second too soon to satisfy his anxiety.
They found the others awaiting them below, and Mr. Gordon caught Nuthin
in his arms as if to express delight at his almost marvelous escape.
What if no one had noticed the absence of Albert, and they had hurried
away from the ruined camp, leaving him fast in the tree? He would have
been in for a terrible experience, and in the end it might have resulted
seriously for the boy.
"Are you badly injured, Albert?" asked the instructor, as he drew the
other on toward the point where the balance of the disrupted troop
crouched, trying to get out of the way of those furious bursts of wind.
"Pretty sore, sir, but nothing serious, I reckon," came the reassuring
answer, which proved that Nuthin did, after all, possess a fair amount
of pluck.
When they arrived in the vicinity of the spot where the mess tent had
stood, the rest of the troop greeted their coming with a faint cheer. It
takes a good deal to utterly discourage a bunch of healthy boys; and
while things looked pretty bleak, still they made out to consider the
adventure in the light of a joke. No one wished his companions to know
just how badly frightened he really was.
"Now we must get out of this," said Mr. Gordon, "and as we make our way
along, try and keep together as much as you can. Pair off, and hold on,
each to his mate. Ready?"
In this manner, leaving Dobbin, the horse to his fate, they deserted the
late joyous camp, now lying a seeming wreck. Yet things were not as bad
as they might have been, thanks to their wisdom in cutting down the
tents before more of them blew away.
The crash of falling trees could still be heard with every renewed
furious blast. But just as Mr. Gordon had said, these sounds proceeded
almost wholly from the lower region. That was the reason he declined to
seek safety in that quarter, preferring to push in the teeth of the
blow, because the rocky shelters were to be found there.
They made but slow progress, but as time passed on they managed to gain
some distance from the open space of the late camp, where the little
hurricane had so free a sweep.
As yet they had not been successful in discovering any sort of a refuge
worthy of the name. The rocks were piled up all around them, and they
had to do a great deal of clambering over obstacles in order to get
along; but so far as a cave went none had been found.
Mr. Gordon knew that some of his charges must be perilously near the
point of exhaustion. All the boys were not as robust and hardy as Paul
and several others. He was becoming genuinely alarmed concerning them,
knowing that unless shelter were quickly found they would be apt to
fall.
"We must change our tactics," he called out, finally; "and instead of
going on in a trailing line, spread out and cover more ground. If any
one finds a cave let him give the scout's shout of discovery!"
After that they advanced more slowly, since it was really every one for
himself. Paul saw that the scoutmaster must have been right when he
declared that they had not yet experienced the worst of the terrible
Summer storm. It seemed to be getting slowly but surely more violent,
and he wondered what amount of damage it would carry along the farms of
the Bushkill, and the various towns and villages bordering its banks.
Stumbling blindly at times, it was no wonder the boys had many a tumble.
Hands were bruised and scratched, yet in the excitement little attention
was paid to such trifling things.
Several times Paul fancied that one of his mates had called out, and
hope began to surge afresh through his heart. In every case, however, it
proved to be a mistake, since no succeeding calls announced the glad
fact that shelter had been discovered. He was forced to believe that
the sounds he heard were only new exultant shrieks of the wind, as it
swept along the side of old Rattlesnake Mountain.
Jack was close at the side of his chum, and when the darkness prevented
them from actually seeing each other, they frequently caught hands, so
that they might not be separated.
Whenever a little lull came in the storm the cheery voice of the
scoutmaster was heard, encouraging his followers to hold out "just a
little longer." In this time of gloom Mr. Gordon endeared himself to the
hearts of those soaked boys as he had never before done while the sun
was shining, and all seemed well.
Paul realized that they were now plodding along over ground that was
totally unfamiliar to him. It gave him new hope that shortly one of the
extended line might discover what they sought.
And it was just when he was bolstering up his courage in this fashion
that he heard a sudden sharp cry from his chum. The lightning flashed
out at that second and Paul looked eagerly toward the spot where he knew
Jack had been but a brief interval before. To his astonishment his chum
had utterly disappeared from view, as though the rocks had opened and
swallowed him!