THE RECEDING WATER
Jerry started off early the next morning. The rain had ceased but there
was a thick fog and, because of the moist vegetation of the tropics,
water fairly dripped from the trees, festooned as they were with long
streamers of moss and vines.
“I hate to leave you, Ned,” Jerry remarked as he shouldered his gun
and put some bread and pieces of bacon into his pocket. “But it can’t
be helped. I’ll try and get back by night, even if I don’t find the
professor.”
“Do the best you can, Jerry. I’ll look after Bob.”
It was with no small sense of loneliness that Ned watched Jerry
disappear into the forest. The trees soon hid him from sight and
then Ned set about getting the camp in some sort of order, for they
had rather neglected it of late. Bob turned and tossed on his couch.
The fever still burned within him but he was much weaker and did not
need to be so closely watched. For want of something better Ned
administered more nitre, and Bob no longer fought against taking it.
“Poor Bob!” said Ned with a sigh. “I’d rather you’d kick up a fuss. I’d
know then you had some life left in you.”
But Bob meekly swallowed the mixture, and when Ned took his arm from
under his chum’s head it fell back listlessly on the pillow.
Ned thought the day would never end. He had not the heart to cook
anything and ate the remainder of the cold food. He sat in front of the
tent gloomily looking at the lake and wondering whether Jerry would
find the professor.
Now and then Bob would call out but when Ned hurried in he would
find his chum murmuring in delirium. All he could do was to wet the
fever-parched lips with water, and renew the damp cloths on the
sufferer’s head and chest.
“Poor Bob,” said Ned with a sigh. “I wish you hadn’t eaten that strange
fruit.”
As the afternoon wore away Ned listened anxiously for the sound of
Jerry’s returning footsteps. For want of something better to do to
while away the time he began cleaning the engine of the _Dartaway_.
It was while doing this that he happened to look at the edge of the
lake. Something queer about it attracted his attention.
“If I didn’t know differently,” he said to himself, “I’d say the tide
was falling. It looks just as if the water was lower.”
Feeling sure that such a thing was impossible, Ned went on working at
the engine. A little later he again gazed over the side of the boat.
This time he started in surprise.
“I’m positive that stone wasn’t so far out of water the last time
I looked,” he said, speaking aloud. “I wonder if this lake can be
connected with the ocean in some manner, and is affected by the tide?
No, it can’t be, or we’d have noticed it before. Yet the water is
surely running away.”
He got out of the _Dartaway_. He was much alarmed to see that nearly
half of the craft was now out of the lake, whereas a while before only
the bow-end had rested on the sandy beach.
“The lake is surely lowering,” Ned went on. “I must watch and see how
fast it is falling.”
He marked where the water came on shore and sat down to wait. He was
too much worried to be able to go on working. Bob called, and he went
in to see what was wanted. He gave his chum a drink and administered
some more medicine. He was in the tent a half hour, and when he came
out he was surprised to see that the water was half an inch from the
mark.
“It’s falling at the rate of an inch an hour,” said Ned. “This is
getting serious. I wish Jerry and the professor would come back.”
Ned watched the lake. There was no mistake about it, the water was
slowly falling. More and more of the _Dartaway’s_ keel was exposed.
“This’ll never do!” exclaimed Ned. “In a short time the boat will be
aground and we’ll have a hard time getting it afloat again. I must
shove it further into the lake.”
He tried to do it but found the task was beyond his strength. Pull,
push and tug as he did he could not stir the boat. The stern, with
the screw, was still in deep water and he started the engine on the
reverse, hoping to be able to have the craft move out further into the
lake under its own power. But though the propeller churned the water
the craft did not budge.
“It’s no use,” remarked Ned. “I’ll have to wait until Jerry and the
professor come back. I wonder what makes the water flow away? It can’t
be the tide.”
He was much puzzled, and the more he thought of it the more he was
alarmed. Suppose the lake should suddenly go dry? It would be
impossible to get the _Dartaway_ to Lake Okeechobee in that case and
they would have to abandon the craft in the everglades. Worse than
that they would have hard work in leaving Florida, as they were in an
uninhabited part.
“We certainly are up against it!” exclaimed Ned, as he shut off the
engine after his fruitless attempt. “What in the world am I going to
do?”
There was no one to answer his question, and once more he sat down
despondently in front of the tent and gazed at the receding water.
It was beginning to get dusk and Ned knew it would soon be dark as
there was practically no twilight in this semi-tropical land.
“I wish Jerry would come back,” he murmured. “I don’t like the idea of
staying here alone with Bob all night.”
He went into the tent to give the patient a drink. As he was coming
out he heard the crackling of underbrush. It indicated the approach
of some one. Ned hurried to the flap of the tent. He saw through the
semi-darkness a figure approaching.
“Jerry!” he called.
“Yes, it’s me, Ned. How’s Bob?”
“No better. Did you find the professor?”
“No. I went as far as I could. The path ended in a deep swamp and I
couldn’t see any way to get across. I had to come back. Is everything
all right?”
“No, Jerry. I’m afraid we’re in for a streak of bad luck.”
“How so?”
“Butterfly Lake is lowering.”
“The lake lowering! What do you mean?”
“I hardly know myself. Either it’s connected with the ocean and the
tide is falling, or the bottom has dropped out.”
“This lake isn’t connected with the tide.”
“Then there’s a leak in it.”
“Are you sure, Ned?”
“Take a look.”
The two youths hurried down to the edge of the water. Ned pointed to
the _Dartaway_. The water had receded so much that the propellor was
part way out.
“You know how it was when we left it,” said Ned. “Now look at it. I
tried to get the boat off into deeper water but I couldn’t. Queer,
isn’t it?”
“More than queer,” responded Jerry in tired accents, for he was very
weary. “This is serious, Ned. We’ll have to do something.”
“Better have something to eat first,” suggested Ned. “You’re played
out. I’ll make some coffee.”
He lighted the fire and soon had some of the steaming beverage ready.
He took some and so did Jerry. Then they looked at Bob. The poor chap
was no better, but the boys were a little encouraged that he was no
worse.
“He’s holding his own,” remarked Ned.
“Yes, but if the fever doesn’t break up soon he’ll--”
Jerry didn’t finish, and Ned did not ask him what he meant.
“The nitre is all gone,” went on Ned. “I don’t know what to give him
now.”
“We’ll bathe him in witch hazel,” suggested Jerry. “That has alcohol in
it, and I’ve heard that’s what they wash fever patients in. It may do
him some good.”
Bob did seem a little more comfortable after Ned and Jerry had sponged
him with the witch hazel, of which they had a large bottle. But the
fever was soon raging again, and poor Bob tossed more restlessly than
before, while he murmured in his delirium of ice water and other
cooling drinks.
Morning came at last. As soon as it was light Jerry hurried down to the
lake. What he saw caused him to cry out in surprise. The _Dartaway_
was now ten feet from the edge.
“There’s only thing to do!” exclaimed Jerry.
“What is that?” asked Ned.
“We’ve got to get the boat into the deep water. Otherwise it will soon
be so far away we can’t float her.”
“How are you going to do it?”
“We’ll have to cut down some small trees for rollers and edge it along
that way.”
“But what about Bob?”
“We’ll have to put him on board first.”