THE SUBMERGED FARM-HOUSE
"Gee whiz! where is it, Toby?" cried Steve. "And none of us got a gun
along, worse luck. Hey, show me the sea serpent, and p'raps my camera
ain't so wet but what I might crack off a picture of the same; because
nobody's ever going to believe you when you tell that yarn. Show me,
Toby!"
Toby was only too willing to comply. He had always had a decided
weakness for collecting all sorts of wild animals, and that might
explain why he displayed such extraordinary excitement now.
"There, right over past the end of the r-r-raft, where it s-s-sticks up
like a c-c-church spire!" he stuttered, pointing as he spoke. "Now
watch everybody, when he pokes his old h-h-head up again. There, don't
you s-s-see? And s-s-say, he seems to be s-s-swimmin' this way, don't
he?"
Steve broke out into a yell.
"Why, bless your old timid soul, Toby, that isn't any snake at all,
only one of those big wild-grape vines, like enough, that's ketched on
to that floating tree trunk close by. She's all twisted and turned,
and I reckon a fellow as crazy over wild animals and things, like you
are, might be excused for thinkin' it was a regular sea serpent."
Bandy-legs too was showing amusement.
"Guess that's the way nearly all sea serpents are discovered," he
remarked, trying to make it appear as though he had not been almost as
excited as Toby, when the other burst out so suddenly with his
announcement.
"Well, we haven't lost any snakes," commented Max, "and so we won't try
to rescue that floating vine. We've had our turn at saving menageries,
seems to me, enough for one season anyway."
What Max referred to was a series of remarkable adventures that came to
the four chums at a time when a storm blew down the tents belonging to
a circus about to exhibit in Carson, and liberating many of the animals
connected with the menagerie; but full particulars of this thrilling
experience have already been given in the volume preceding this, so
that further explanation would seem to be unnecessary here.
Toby did not make any reply. He rubbed his eyes pretty hard, as though
wondering how they could have deceived him so strangely. But then a
fellow who was devoting so much of his thoughts to the mania for
strange pets in the shape of wild animals might be expected to see
things in a different light from his chums, who were not addicted to
that weakness.
"For one," said Bandy-legs, "I'm real glad it wasn't a snake, because
they always give me the creeps, you remember, I hate 'em so. Just
think what a fine pickle we'd be in now if a monster anaconda or a big
boa constrictor or python, broke loose from a show, should climb up on
our bridge boat, and start to chasin' us all overboard. Things look
bad enough as they are without our takin' on a bunch of new trouble.
So, Toby, please don't glimpse anything else, and give us fits, will
you?"
Steve seemed to be intently watching the shore, especially whenever the
revolving timbers brought them in a line with the western bank, because
that was more familiar to the boys than the other, since Carson lay on
that side of the river toward the setting sun.
"I'm trying to make out where we are, Max," he explained, upon seeing
that the other was observing him curiously.
Bandy-legs uttered a loud and significant grunt.
"Say, Steve," he remarked with a touch of satire in his voice, "I can
tell you that much, if you're all mixed up. We're squattin' on the
remains of our bloomin' bridge, which used to cross the river in front
of Carson; yes-siree, and we seem to be takin' an unexpected voyage
downstream, without a port in sight. 'Water, water everywhere, and not
a drop to drink,' as the ship-wrecked sailor used to sing; only we
_could_ manage with this muddy stuff if we had to, because it ain't
salty, you know."
"How far have we come, Max?" Steve continued, anxious to know, and
pretending to pay no attention to Bandy-legs' humorous remarks.
"I'm trying to figure it out myself, Steve," admitted the other, who
had also been studying the shore line, though everything was so changed
during the high water that it was difficult to recognize land marks
that had previously been quite familiar to him; "and the best I can
make out is that we must be somewhere near Dixon's Point, where the
river makes that first sharp curve."
"And, Max, that's about fifteen miles below Carson, isn't it?" Steve
added, as he twisted his head the better to look down-stream again.
"Something like fifteen or sixteen, Steve."
"And if Asa French's place is twenty, we ought to strike in there right
soon, hadn't we, Max?"
"Before ten minutes more, like as not," Max told him.
Steve drew in a long breath. He was undoubtedly wondering what the
immediate future had in store for them, and whether some strange
fortune might not bring him in close touch with Bessie. He doubtless
had been picturing this girl friend of his in all sorts of thrilling
situations, owing to the rapidly rising river, and always with some one
that looked suspiciously like Steve Dowdy rushing valiantly to the
relief of the helpless ones.
Steve had once tried to play the hero part, and stopped what he
believed was a runaway horse, with Bessie in the vehicle, only to have
her scornfully tell him to mind his own business after that, since he
had spoiled her plans for proving that their old family nag still had
considerable speed left in him.
Steve had never forgotten the scorn and sarcasm that marked the girl's
face and voice when she said that to him. It had come back to his mind
many times since that occasion; and he had kept aloof from all social
events ever since, because he did not mean to be snubbed again. And
even now, when he was picturing Bessie in real trouble, he kept telling
himself that he meant to make sure she was surely in danger of
drowning, or something like that, before he ventured to try and succor
her. "Because," Steve told himself, "once bit, twice shy; and not if I
know it will I ever give any girl the chance again to say I'm trying to
show off."
All the same his eyes seldom roved in any other quarter now but
down-stream, which was mute evidence that Steve was thinking about
other peoples' troubles besides his own.
"We couldn't do anything to help move this old raft closer to shore,
could we, Max?" Bandy-legs was suggesting.
"Hardly, though I'd like to first-rate," he was told; "but it's too
cumbersome for us to move it, even if we pulled off some boards to use
as paddles. So it looks as if we'd have to trust to luck to take us in
the right quarter for making our escape."
"Well, we can be ready, and if the chance comes, make the plunge,"
Bandy-legs continued, "We're all so wringing wet as it is that if we
had to jump in and swim a piece it wouldn't hurt any. Just remember
that I'm ready if the rest of you are. I'm not caring any too much for
this sort of a boat. It keeps on turning around too many times, like a
tub in a tub race, and you never know what minute you're going to be
dumped out, if it takes a notion to kick up its heels and dive."
"Don't look a g-g-gift horse in the m-m-mouth, Bandy-legs!" advised
Toby.
Steve was manifesting more and more restlessness.
"Max, you've been down this far before, I reckon, even if most all our
camping trips were to the north and west of Carson?" he asked, turning
to the leader.
"Yes, several times, to tell you the truth," admitted Max; "but with
the flood on, things look so different ashore that it's pretty hard to
tell where you are. Why do you ask me that, Steve?"
"Do you remember whether there's a bend about a mile or so above the
French farm house?" continued Steve.
After reflecting for several seconds Max gave his answer.
"Yes, you're right, there is; and I should say it must lie about a mile
or so this side of the place."
"I was trying to figure it all out," Steve told him, "and it's this way
it looks like to me. The current will sweep us across the river when
we swing around that same bend, won't it?"
"Pretty far, for a fact, Steve, because it's apt to run the same way
even if the river is far out of its regular channel now."
"Well, don't you see that's going to bring us pretty close to where the
French house used to lie?" Steve remarked, inquiringly.
"Yes, it might, just as you say," Max replied; "but why do you speak of
it in that way--used to lie?"
"Because," said Steve, moodily, "I'm scared to think what might have
happened to that same house by now, and wondering if it's been swept
clean away; though it was a strongly built place, and ought to stand a
heap of pounding before it went down."
"But even if it isn't in sight, Steve, that doesn't mean the girls have
been carried away on the flood, or else drowned. Of course Asa French
would be warned long enough ahead to hitch up his horses, and pull-out
for higher ground with everybody in his family. They're all right, the
chances are ten to one that way."
Max said this for a purpose. He saw that Steve was feeling dreadfully
about it, and knew the discovery would be doubly hard should they come
upon the place where the French farm house had stood, to find it
missing; and so he wanted to prepare the other chum against a shock.
"It's kind of you to say that, Max," Steve faltered, swallowing a lump
that seemed to be choking him; "and I'm going to try and believe what
you tell me. We ought to know the worst soon, now, because we're just
above that bend, and already I can see how the current sets in as swift
as anything toward the other shore."
All of them fell silent after that. They were watching the way the
floating timbers of the lost bridge were being steadily swept toward
the west shore, or rather where that bank had once been, because a
great sea of water now covered the fertile farmland for a distance of a
mile or so, to where the hills began.
Shack Beggs had recovered his usual ability to look after himself, and
while he did not say anything, there was a look on his face that set
Max to thinking, as he thrust the strap into the hand of his rescuer,
as though he would have no further need of it, and disliked appearing
weaker than the rest in that he had to be fastened to the railing.
Shack had just passed through a thrilling experience that was fated to
make a decided impression on his mind. He had hated these boys for
years, and done all he could to make life miserable for them; it
remained to be seen whether there would be any material change in his
habits after this, or if he would forget his obligations to Max
Hastings, and go right along as before.
Max would have pondered this matter, for it must have presented
exceedingly interesting features to a fellow like him; but there was
really no time for considering such things now. They would have all
they could do to find a way to gain the shore, and cheat the flood of
its prey. Max could not forget that some twenty miles below where they
were now the river plunged over a high dam; and even in time of flood
this might prove to be their Waterloo, if they were prevented from
getting on land before the broken bridge timbers reached that
obstruction.
"Now, look, everybody, because we're turning the bend!" Steve called
out, in his great excitement hardly knowing what he was saying.
Eagerly they strained their eyes. The strange craft swung around the
bend, and continued to keep edging toward the west side of the river.
A broad expanse of turgid water met their eyes, broken here and there
with a few objects such as treetops.
Once there had been numerous barns and out-buildings connected with the
French farm, but everything had apparently been swept clean away saving
the house itself, and that still stood, although the flood was even
then three quarters of the way up to the gutters of the roof, and must
be exerting a tremendous pressure that could not much longer be baffled.
"Oh! it's still standing, Max!" shouted Steve, hoarsely; "who'd ever
think it could have held out so long? I tell you that's a bully old
house, and built like a regular Gibraltar. But, Max, don't you glimpse
something up there clinging to the roof? Somehow I don't seem able to
see as clear as I might; I don't know what's the matter with me."
But Max knew that Steve was blinking as fast as he could, to dry the
tears that had come unbidden into his eyes under the excess of his
emotions.
"I honestly believe it's the girls!" he exclaimed, startled himself at
making such a thrilling discovery.
Steve gave a cry of dismay.
"Whatever can they be doing up there; and where's Bessie's Uncle Asa,
that he's left them all alone in the storm? Oh! Max, we've just got
to work over to the house and help them. Do you think we're heading
that way fast enough? Ain't there any way we could help the old raft
to hurry up, and strike the house so we could climb up there? Well, if
the worst comes I'm meaning to swim for it, current or no current."
"Wait and see!" cautioned Max; "I'm still thinking we'll swing far
enough around to strike against the upper side of the house. I only
hope the blow doesn't finish things, and topple the submerged building
over."
This gave Steve something new to worry over. He started to shouting,
and waving his hat vigorously, and received answering signals from
those who were perched on the sloping roof of the farmhouse.
Doubtless the ones in peril may have been praying for rescuers to heave
in sight, but certainly it could never have entered into their heads to
conjure up such a strange way for assistance to come to them, in the
shape of a raft composed of the timbers of the wrecked Carson bridge.
But so great had been their terror, when surrounded by those wild and
rising waters, that no doubt they gladly welcomed the possibility of
help in any shape. Besides, the coming of those four husky and
resourceful lads was a thing not to be despised. Though they may not
have owned a motorboat, or even a skiff, they had sturdy arms and
active brains, and would surely find some way to serve those who just
then seemed to be in great need of assistance.