A RACE FOR THE DOCTOR.
“We’ll switch to the motor, Persimmons.”
The dawn comes up early so far north as the St. Lawrence. It was not yet
three o’clock in the morning, yet there was a faint gray light
illumining the river.
They had been waiting for this. In the darkness, and with the many
whirlpools and rapids that occur in that part of the river, it would
have been dangerous to do anything more than wait about for daylight. As
the light grew stronger the little motor began to crackle and bang, and
the tender moved swiftly off through the water in the direction of Dr.
Chadwick’s island.
“How is our patient getting along, Ralph?” asked Harry, who was
steering.
“Breathing easily, but still unconscious. Give us all the speed you can
get, Percy. This boy’s life may be the reward of a few extra miles
coaxed out of the engine.”
“I’ll do my best,” young Simmons assured him.
With Persimmons making good his promise, it was not long before the
tender’s headway was checked off Dr. Chadwick’s island, a pretty, wooded
spot with a bungalow showing amid the trees. The bungalow stood back
from the water up a steep, grassy slope. The first rays of the rising
sun were gleaming on this when the little tender came to a stop at a
neat stone dock.
“Blow the whistle,” ordered Ralph. “I guess somebody is up. Anyhow,
there is smoke coming from the chimney.”
Obediently, Percy Simmons began sounding the pneumatic whistle.
Toot-toot-toot-toot-toot!
At the fifth blast the figure of a servant appeared from the bungalow at
the top of the slope.
Ralph snatched up the tender’s megaphone.
“Dr. Chadwick at home?” he shouted.
The servant nodded in reply.
“Then please ask him to hurry down here as soon as possible. We’ve got a
badly injured boy with us. Ask him to make all the haste he can. It’s a
serious case.”
The man gave a wave of his hand to show he understood and vanished. It
did not take long for Dr. Chadwick to appear. He was evidently up early
to go on a fishing expedition, for he wore outing clothes. He was a
middle-aged but active man. He came down the slope quickly, carrying a
black surgical case in one hand. As he saw the boys he broke into a run.
Speedily he was on the dock looking down into the tender.
“Well, well,” he exclaimed, “you young men are early callers. What is
the trouble? Ah! that lad there! Cut on the head, eh? Bring him ashore
and I’ll examine him.”
The injured lad was carefully lifted to the dock by the boys and laid
down on the crib-work, while the physician bent over him sympathizingly.
He removed the bandage that bound the boy’s head. As he saw the wound he
whistled.
“Pretty bad cut, this. How did it happen?”
As the boys explained the case to him, he worked on the wound, applying
antiseptics and carefully bandaging it.
“Is the skull fractured?” inquired Ralph.
“That is impossible to say. I cannot do more than examine it now.”
“What had better be done?”
“I’d recommend a hospital,” said the doctor.
“Is there one near here?” inquired Ralph.
“Yes, at Cardinal, on the Canadian shore.”
“We had better take him there?”
“I should strongly advise it. In fact, it may be his only chance of
pulling through. It was a good thing you came to me so early. I am going
down the river to-day and may be gone for some time. Otherwise I should
be glad to help you out in elucidating the mystery of that island.”
“Thank you,” rejoined Ralph; “we mean to try and do something in that
way ourselves.”
“Well, you look capable enough,” said the doctor dryly, with a twinkle
in his eye.
Not long after, for the doctor had cautioned them not to delay, the
tender shot out from the dock. In the rush of events it had hardly
occurred to the boys to talk over the disappearance of the _River
Swallow_. Now, however, that they had done almost all they could for the
boy, and the tender was headed for Cardinal, not more than six miles
off, the talk swung naturally enough to that topic.
Indignation against Malvin was the ruling feeling, although Ralph warned
them not to prejudge the man.
“He may have had some good reason for what he did,” he said.
“He’ll have a good excuse, anyhow. I’ll bet my head on that,” said Harry
Ware, with emphasis.
They were swinging between the North Twin and the South Twin Island as
the lad spoke. As they shot around a promontory on the latter’s easterly
end, Percy Simmons, who had relieved Harry at the wheel, checked their
talk by an abrupt shout.
“Motor craft ahead!” he cried.
“Where?” demanded Ralph.
“Right over our bow. By hickory,” the boy’s voice became surcharged with
sudden excitement, “it’s—it’s the _River Swallow_!”
“By all that’s wonderful, so it is!” and Ralph echoed the other’s shout.
“Hail her!” suggested Harry, “it won’t be long now before we squeeze
some sort of an explanation out of that wiggly Malvin.”
The tender was urged to top speed. The _River Swallow_ was bound down
the river, apparently headed for Dexter Island. She was making good
speed, but, aided by the current between the two islands, the tender
bade fair to intercept her. Harry Ware opened a locker and snatched out
a flag. He waved it energetically above his head.
Before long the _River Swallow’s_ way was checked. She swerved from her
course and headed for the little tender. As she came alongside, Malvin’s
face appeared on the bridge. His countenance beamed with what appeared
to be genuine relief as he met the boys’ eyes unflinchingly.
“Thank heaven you’re safe, young gentlemen!” he cried. “I feared
something had happened to you.”
“Humph,” muttered Harry to himself, as some steps were lowered and they
prepared to board the _River Swallow_, “I’ve got more than half a
notion, my friend, that you weren’t half as worried as you would like us
to think.”
Malvin and Hansen helped to get the injured lad on deck, where he was
laid out in the cockpit. Had Ralph not been preoccupied he would have
noticed Malvin give a perceptible start as his eyes fell upon the lad’s
pallid face.
“It’s Henderson Hawke’s boy, Jim Whey,” he muttered to himself. “So it
_was_ these brats of Border Boys who landed on Windmill Island last
night. I thought so from the description Hawke gave me of his visitors.”
After seeing the wounded lad comfortably disposed, Ralph ordered full
speed ahead. Cardinal was reached after a swift run and the lad hurried
to the hospital in an ambulance summoned from the dock.
“I think we may hope for the best,” said the house surgeon in answer to
the boys’ inquiries. “What is the lad’s name?”
“We—we don’t know; but I’ll be responsible for him,” rejoined Ralph.
“Humph! Queer sort of lads,” muttered the surgeon, as he turned to give
some orders and the boys returned to their fast motor craft.