AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD.
When Bob White heard Bumpus talk in this way he took notice of the fact
that the stout scout was in deadly earnest in what he said. It was no
laughing matter, apparently, because Bumpus had evidently made all sorts
of preparations for the expected disaster, besides fastening one end of
that cord around his body, and asking his fellow scout to hold the
other.
His precious silver-plated bugle which, as the accredited musician of
the troop, he always carried along with him, unless otherwise forbidden
by Thad, he had now made more secure against possible damage by
fastening the same about his neck, so that it dangled between his
shoulders. And he was gripping his rifle as though bent on keeping that
also out of the awful muck, should the accident he anticipated come to
pass; for once let any of that ooze find a way into the barrel, and it
would be a most difficult task to get the interior “spic-and-span,” and
shiny again, as Bumpus always wished to keep his firearm.
But Bob White did not smile.
He liked the fat boy too well to give him unnecessary pain, though the
fact of Bumpus preparing that heavy cord so that he might be saved in
time, should he slip from the narrow causeway and sink into the slime,
was really comical; and later on would doubtless elicit roars of
laughter from unfeeling Giraffe and Davy, when they came to talk matters
over, and were free to make as much noise as they felt like.
“That’s all right, Bumpus,” Bob said, reassuringly, as he accepted the
cord, and proceeded to wind it several times around his left hand, for
he was carrying his gun in his right.
“You’ll do me the favor, then, will you?” questioned the other, with
eagerness.
“To be sure I will, suh, and only too gladly,” replied Bob; “but, if so
be you happen to know when you’re going, it might be a good thing, I
take it, to give me due warning of the same, because a sudden jerk would
perhaps pull me over with you; and then, suh, it’d be a case of the
blind leading the blind.”
“I will, Bob, depend on it, I’ll try to,” Bumpus assured him. “Course I
don’t want to souse in that awful mud, and I’m agoing to try my level
best to keep on the straight and narrow road all I can; but if it does
happen, it’s always some comfort to know you’ve got an anchor out to
windward.”
“Yes, suh, it’s sometimes a good thing to have a string tied to things,
so they can be jerked back if the conditions don’t seem favorable. I’ve
known fellows who never made a bargain but they had an ‘if’ or a
‘perhaps’ fixed to the same. But nobody could say that of you, Bumpus.
Don’t worry about me; I’ll attend to business at the old stand, suh, all
right. You won’t go down so quick but that I’ll manage to draw the line
taut; and if she holds you’re just bound to come out, either whole or in
sections, suh. That’s all.”
Which intelligence could hardly have been very comforting to poor
Bumpus; whose face took on a thoughtful look, as though he had begun
already to wonder whether the remedy might not be more dreadful than the
disease.
But there was no time for more conversation in these whispered tones
between the two scouts; because Alligator Smith had apparently found the
place for which he was looking, and boldly stepped out from the firm
ground.
While his feet went under the surface an inch or so, he seemed to have
struck a solid foundation; for he immediately turned, and waved his hand
to the posse; and then held up his finger suggestively, as though
warning them under no circumstances should they make unnecessary noise.
Perhaps the fox they hoped to find in his hole might be sleeping, and
not apt to take the alarm easily; but it was not wise to depend too much
upon that chance. The really keen woodsman never underrates the party or
animal he may be hunting, but always acts as though he must expect the
worst. It is better to be too cautious than to lack in this regard, and
ruin well-laid plans.
Pretty soon there was a long line of men and boys making their way along
that submerged ledge of solid ground. Thad came immediately after the
guide, walking in the footprints of the swamp hunter, if such a thing
could be said where the soft ooze instantly settled back as soon as one
withdrew his foot. Then others of the scouts, led by the sheriff,
trailed along, Bumpus being just behind his good friend Bob White, so no
one really noticed that there was a connecting link between the two.
By the time the last member of the big posse had entered the bog,
Alligator Smith was almost halfway over; and thus far all had gone
smoothly, so that save for a certain amount of soft splashing there had
nothing happened to create a disturbance. Bumpus was going strong. He
must feel more or less encouraged by the success with which he was
following in the wake of Smithy, who evidently felt this thing of
soiling his brand new leggings with that black ooze more than any other
scout; because Smithy never could get over being particular in his
appearance, though he had been cured of being a dude, brushing his hair
when in camp, and other silly ways of trying to imagine that certain
duties must be performed when roughing it, just the same as when he was
at home.
Bumpus kept his eyes glued upon the feet of Smithy, knowing that eternal
vigilance was always the price of safety and liberty. If the other
manifested signs of wabbling Bumpus was apt to shudder, and stand
stock-still until he saw Smithy go on again without taking the
anticipated tumble into that quaking muck bed that seemed to just yawn
expectantly on either side of the moving line of men and boys.
Some persons declare that when one is anticipating a thing it generally
comes about. Others say a “watched kettle never boils;” so you can take
your choice. But as events proved, Bumpus’ fears were not without a
foundation; for when he was all of two-thirds of the way over the bog he
suddenly slipped, and losing his footing, just settled into the ooze
like a big balloon might drop down.
Bumpus gave no yelp of alarm, for he had kept schooling himself on this
score all along, and made up his mind that if the sacrifice must be
carried out he would at least prove himself a credit to the training of
Thad, and go down in silence.
Bob White came very near being pulled in after him; but Giraffe who came
just behind the Southern boy, succeeded in clutching him in time.
There was poor Bumpus over his knees in the slime, and sinking steadily
all the while on account of his great weight. He knew the futility of
trying to get out by himself, and that the more he moved about the worse
his plight was bound to be; and so he just squatted there like a huge
frog, holding his gun up above his head, and looking appealingly toward
the chum from whom he felt that he had a right to expect help.
Nor was Bob White slow to get busy on that line. Fortunately it was a
new and strong cord that Jasper had used in his man-trap which failed to
work because of the vigilance of the scout-master; and when several
others had laid hold of the same no doubt they could assist Bumpus to
clamber out again.
It was rather difficult to accomplish anything while on such a narrow
footing, because in the first place they could not bunch together; and
then again there was always a chance that one of the other scouts might
also lose his footing, and slide into that soft bed; for the muck was no
respector of persons, neither did Bumpus have a monopoly of the same,
because there was plenty of room for others.
But by dint of judicious handling, and a sort of swinging pull they
managed to start the heavy scout coming.
“Get a move on, and help yourself, can’t you?” fretted Giraffe, upon
seeing how Bumpus was just content to let himself be hauled out by main
strength.
“Shall I, Bob?” asked the object of all this solicitude, as though
recognizing the Southern boy as the one in command, because it had been
in his charge he had submitted his case when the prospects looked
dubious.
“Yes, it would help some, I take it, suh, if you did make motions like
you-all might be a frog swimming in there,” the one appealed to made
answer.
And so Bumpus, who had doubtless often watched a frog swimming so
gracefully in the water, started to give them his conception of what it
was like. Giraffe nearly doubled up with silent laughter, and only for
the proximity of Allan might have made more or less of a noise; but he
succeeded in restraining his exuberant spirits, and even did some
hauling on the faithful cord that did not fail Bumpus in this great
emergency.
They got him out presently, and while Bumpus was a sight, with all that
black mud clinging to his legs, so that the rest had to keep away from
him, Davy had the temerity, instead of giving thanks over the successful
rescue of his chum, to go and mutter something that sounded like:
“Anyway, now, he’ll just _have_ to throw away that old suit, and the
rest of us’ll be able to breathe easy again. Blessings lots of times
come along in disguise, my ma says, and this must be one of ’em. And so
I’m real glad we had to creep along this slippery ridge after all,
because it’s going to make a change in things when we get back to our
duffel.”
“Keep quiet, can’t you, Davy!” warned Giraffe, who all the time was
chuckling to himself as though he really enjoyed every word he heard the
other scout say, because Davy was voicing his own sentiments exactly.
When that suspicious “plunk” had warned them all that some one was in
the mire, Thad and the guide had come to a full stop, to wait until the
rescue had been effected. While they were strung out in that wavering
line, what was the interest of one concerned them all; and there would
be little use in a few of them getting safely over the bog if the main
body were held up out there; because none of those in the rear could
pass by until Bumpus had been saved.
The fat scout gave Bob White many thankful looks, and insisted upon the
other retaining hold of that friendly piece of thin rope, because, as
often happens, history might choose to repeat, as one good turn deserves
another, and he did not like that oozy bed any better after testing its
capacity, than he had before his slip-up.
As for that line, Bumpus would treasure it most religiously, as one of
his most valued possessions; for had it not saved his life?
The forward march was resumed, with everybody hoping that clumsy Bumpus
would be much more careful of his footing now, so that the solid ground
might be reached without more trouble.
Nobody was more anxious than the stout boy that such a thing might
carry; and quite naturally he exercised all the caution he could muster
up in order to keep from doing that sliding trick again.
When finally he reached solid ground, and actually felt something firm
under his feet, Bumpus gave a great sigh of thanksgiving and relief.
Others did the same, it may as well be confessed.
First of all, Bumpus restored his bugle to its customary place at his
side. Then, having deposited his gun on the ground, leaning up against a
tree, he next proceeded to coil up that valuable cord, and stow the same
away inside his khaki jacket.
“Why don’t you get busy, and scrape some of that mud off?” asked Step
Hen, in the ear of the one who had so recently been saved; whereupon
Bumpus sat him down deliberately, picked up a stick, and began to reduce
the amount of bog which he was carrying on his person; which operation
some of the others watched in more or less amusement, particularly Davy,
who shook his head, and grinned as he caught the eye of Giraffe, as much
as to say:
“Here’s where luck came our way in great big chunks, Giraffe, because,
don’t you see, he’s just bound to throw that suit away after getting it
in such a horrible mess, for Thad won’t allow him to tote it along,
nohow. Our time is near at hand, thank goodness; and I say again we’re
lucky; because it’d almost take an earthquake to make such a stubborn
mule as Bumpus to change his mind, he’s so sot in his ways.”
The others had better luck than the fat scout; several may have slipped
a little on the way over, but no one actually fell in far enough to make
a rescue necessary.
By degrees they came ashore, until presently it was seen that every one
in the expedition had landed.
The sheriff deemed it a wise piece of precaution to leave a couple of
his men at this point to act as a guard. If, as Alligator Smith
believed, this was the only means of crossing the fearful muck bed,
then, should they have the misfortune to do anything that would start
the fugitive to action, he might still be nabbed in the act of trying to
get over to the mainland at this point.
And this having been duly attended to, the rest of the posse, together
with Alligator Smith and the Boy Scouts, prepared to leave the vicinity
of the quaking bog, and start in among the trees with which this queer
island, looking like an oasis in the midst of a desert, was pretty well
covered.
Every fellow just knew that they must be very close to the place where
the man they were hunting had his “hang-out;” and the knowledge caused
them to experience a succession of odd little thrills that seemed to
chase all over their bodies, as though some one might be pouring ice
water down their backs. But at the same time there was a delightful
sense of expectancy in the air that caused most of the scouts to feel
that the climax to their long journey must now be at hand.