WITNESSES A RESCUE AND AN ADDITION TO THE PARTY
After supper Dan reminded the others that they hadn’t written to their
folks about Jerry and they all sought the writing room. Those were the
first letters home, and, of course, there was a good deal to write.
None of them had any trouble in filling eight pages except Tom. Tom
wasn’t much of a letter writer, anyway, and then, besides, he had eaten
a great deal of dinner and was inclined toward slumber. But he managed
to make a strong plea for Jerry Hinkley and to assure his folks that he
was having “a dandy time.” After that he went fast asleep with his head
on the blotting pad.
“Now, look here, you fellows,” said Nelson, the next morning, “of
course this thing of running around the island and not knowing where
you’re going to fetch up is very exciting and all that, but it’s risky.
First thing we know we’ll find ourselves back in Long Island City. I
move that we fix on some definite place and go there.”
“That’s what I think,” said Bob. “Let’s do it.”
So they studied the map again and decided to keep along the north
shore for a while and then strike across the island for the ocean
side. Meanwhile the town of Kingston was settled on as their immediate
destination. Kingston was some eighteen miles distant and they thought
they could reach it that evening. They were on their way again at eight
o’clock, for the day promised to be hot toward noon and they hoped to
be able to reach Meadowville in time for luncheon and lay off there for
a couple of hours.
The Sound, blue and calm in the morning sunlight, was on their left and
remained in sight most of the time. Once or twice their way led along
the very edge of it. They had put some five or six miles behind them at
a quarter to ten and were approaching a place where the road crossed a
bridge. On the right a river wound back through a salt marsh. To the
left, after running under the bridge, it emptied itself into a little
bay. Near the bridge were a number of boat and bath houses, one or two
cottages, and some floats and landings. On one of the landings a number
of boys and men were congregated, and as the four drew near, their
curiosity was aroused. Half the occupants of the float were lying on
their stomachs, apparently trying to see under it, while the rest were
walking excitedly about.
“Come on,” said Dan. “Let’s see what’s up.”
So they quickened their pace, turned off from the road, and made their
way to the float.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dan.
“There’s a dog under here,” explained a youth. “We were throwing
pieces of wood for him and he was fetchin’ them out. Then, first thing
we knew, the current took him somehow and sucked him under the float.
He’s there now. Hear him?”
They listened and presently there came a faint, smothered yelp
from under the planks almost at their feet. By that time half the
inhabitants of the float had joined them, eager to tell all about it.
“How long has he been under there?” asked Bob.
“Ten minutes.”
“Five minutes.”
“Three minutes.”
The answers were varied. The boys hurried over to the side. The tide
was running out hard and the river, flowing through the narrow culvert
under the bridge, made a strong current which swirled against the float
until it tugged at its moorings.
“Here’s where he went under,” explained one of their informants. “We
were throwing sticks for him out there and he was having a bully time.
He was a plucky little chap. Then the current took him and he went
down. And next thing he was yelping like thunder underneath here.”
The float, inch-thick boards spiked to big logs, rested in the water
so that the floor was some six inches above the surface. The dog had
apparently come up underneath, was penned in by the logs, and was
managing to keep his head out of water by hard swimming.
“What kind of a dog is it?” asked Nelson.
“Fox terrier, I guess.”
“Wire-haired terrier.”
“Irish terrier.”
“Well, he’s small, is he?” asked Bob impatiently.
“Yes.” They all agreed as to that. Bob turned to the others.
“Who’s going under?” he asked.
“Let me go,” said Tom. But Dan had already thrown off his coat and
kicked off his shoes.
“Dan’s a better diver than you, Tom,” said Bob. “Let him try it first.
I guess there’s plenty of breathing space under there, Dan.”
“Sure,” answered Dan, struggling out of his shirt. “Anyone heard the
poor little chap lately?”
No one had, but at that moment, as though in answer to Dan’s inquiry, a
faint, gurgling sound came from under the floor.
“There he is,” said Nelson. “I’ll stand here and call to you, Dan. You
want to go under about twelve feet.”
“All right,” said Dan. “If I don’t show up inside of half a minute and
you don’t hear from me, one of you chaps had better come in.”
“All right,” answered Bob; “I’ll be ready.”
Then Dan dropped feet foremost over the edge of the float and went down
out of sight in the rushing green water. A moment after those leaning
over the edge caught a glimpse of a kicking leg. Then several seconds
passed. The crowd on the float listened breathlessly. At last, from
under the boards and a few feet away, came Dan’s voice.
“All right, Nel! Where are you?”
“Here!” called Nelson, his mouth at one of the cracks.
“Must be the next section,” answered Dan’s muffled voice. “Wait a
minute.”
There was a faint splashing sound, silence, and again came Dan’s voice.
“I’ve got him!” he called. “I’m coming out the other side.”
A moment later Dan’s wet head and a half-drowned wire-haired terrier
appeared at the same moment. The dog was held out at arm’s length and
Bob seized him. Others gave their hands to Dan and he was quickly
pulled out on to the float.
“Gee, that water’s cold!” he gasped. “How’s the dog? He was just about
gone when I got to him. He had managed to get one paw into a crevice in
a log, but his head was under water half the time, I guess. Who’s got
him?”
“Here he is,” said Bob. “He’s all right. About scared to death, I
guess, and pretty well soaked.”
“Maybe he’s swallowed some water,” suggested Tom. “Hold him upside down
a minute.”
Bob obeyed and nearly half a pint of salt water streamed out of the
dog’s mouth. After that he seemed much better, but was content for the
moment to lie in Bob’s arms and gasp and shiver, looking up the while
into Bob’s face with an expression which surely meant gratitude. He was
a forlorn little thing when they finally set him down and he feebly
shook himself. The hair was plastered close to his body, and his inch
of tail wagged feebly.
“Who’s dog is he?” asked Nelson.
“I don’t know,” said one of the throng. “He’s been around here for
a couple of days. Don’t believe he belongs to anyone. There isn’t
anything on the collar; I looked.”
Some one brought Dan a couple of towels from one of the bath houses
and he dried himself as best he could. Afterwards he trotted about the
float a minute and along the edge of the little beach.
“Say, he’s a plucky one, he is,” said one of the youths to Nelson.
“Who’s that?” asked Nelson.
“Why, that friend of yours; him that got the dog out.”
“Oh, yes, Dan’s plucky,” answered Nelson. “But that wasn’t any stunt
for Dan. That’s one of the easiest things he does.” And he turned away,
leaving the youth staring hard.
“Well, let’s get on,” said Dan, tying the last shoe lace.
So they started back toward the road, leaving the crowd, which had
grown steadily for the last five minutes, looking admiringly at Dan’s
broad back. When they had reached the road, there was a shout from the
float and they looked back.
“Hey! There comes the dog!” some one called.
And sure enough, there was the terrier close behind them. He apparently
had no doubts as to his welcome. His tiny tail was wagging busily as he
went up to Bob, sniffed at his legs, and then turned and made straight
for Dan, a few feet away.
“Hello,” said Dan; “you remember me, do you?”
For answer the dog placed his front paws on Dan’s knee and looked
inquiringly up into his face.
“I believe he knows you rescued him,” said Bob.
“Of course he does,” said Dan. “You’ve got sense, haven’t you, Towser?”
The terrier sneezed and wagged his tail frantically, pawing at Dan’s
knee.
“Hello; catching cold, are you?” Dan picked him up and snuggled him in
his arms. “That won’t do. Mustn’t catch cold, you know.” The dog licked
Dan’s face and wriggled ecstatically.
“He seems to like you,” said Tom. “Dogs are funny creatures.”
“He’s a nice little dog,” said Dan as he dropped him gently to the
ground again. “I wouldn’t mind having him.”
“Wonder if he really is a stray?” said Nelson.
“Well, come on, fellows; it’s getting late,” said Bob, “and we’re only
a little more than halfway to Meadowville.”
“Now you run along home, Mr. Dog,” said Dan, shaking his finger at
the terrier. The terrier seemed to understand, for his manner became
at once sorrowful and dejected. He watched them go off without a wag
of his tail. Presently Dan stole a backward glance. The terrier was
stealing along behind them some twenty yards back. Dan said nothing.
A few minutes later Bob and Nelson became aware of something trotting
along in the rear. They turned. The terrier stopped with one foot in
the air. His tail wagged conciliatingly.
“Go home!” said Bob sternly.
The dog dropped his head and began to sniff at the ground as though the
last thing in his mind was following them. Nelson and Tom laughed.
“Oh, let him come,” muttered Dan.
“It wouldn’t be fair,” said Bob firmly. “He must belong to some one and
they’d probably feel bad if they lost him.”
“All right,” said Dan. “You get along home, doggie.”
But doggie was busy now following an imaginary scent along the side of
the road.
“Throw a stone at him,” said Tom.
“You do it if you want to,” said Bob.
But Tom didn’t seem to want to. Finally Bob picked up an imaginary
missile and made a motion toward the dog. He didn’t run, but paused
and stared at them with an expression of such surprise and sorrow that
Bob’s heart failed him.
“Oh, come on,” he muttered. “He won’t follow.”
Five minutes later when they reached a turn in the road they looked
back. There stood the terrier where they had left him, still looking
after their retreating forms. The next moment he was lost to sight.
“He was a nice little dog,” said Dan regretfully.
They reached Meadowville without further adventure just before noon,
having made, in spite of the delay, a very creditable morning record.
There was no choice in the matter of hotels, since the village boasted
of but one--a small, white-painted, old-fashioned hostelry standing
with its front steps flush with the village street. A long porch ran
the length of the house, and a dozen armchairs invited to rest. But the
proprietor informed them that dinner was ready and so they made at once
for the washroom, removed the dust of the highway, and subsequently
were conducted into the dining room, already well filled. They had
just finished their soup--all save Tom, who had requested a second
helping--when the proprietor appeared before them.
“Say, did any of you boys bring a dog?” he asked.
“No,” and they shook their heads.
“All right. There’s one out here and I can’t get rid of him. I didn’t
know but he might belong to some of you. I never saw the cur before.”
“Here! Hold on,” cried Dan, jumping up. “Let’s see him.”
They all trooped out into the office. There, nosing excitedly about,
was the wire-haired terrier. When he caught sight of them he stopped,
crouched to the floor, and wagged his bit of tail violently. They broke
into a laugh; all save Dan.
“It’s all right,” said Dan decisively. “That’s my dog.”
He strode over to him. The terrier rolled over on to his back, stuck
all four feet toward the ceiling, and awaited annihilation. But it
didn’t come. Instead, Dan took him into his arms and faced the others.
“I guess he can stay with us now, can’t he?” he asked.
“You bet,” said Bob.