THE WANDERINGS OF BUMPUS
Bumpus managed to find the spring all right, for he kept on the alert.
After satisfying his thirst, and starting back, he must have lost his
bearings in some manner; perhaps on account of lying down on the side of
the water that appealed most to him, and then making a mistake in
commencing his return trip.
He did not realize this until he had been following what seemed to be
the winding path for fully five minutes without coming to anything that
looked familiar.
Then Bumpus was overwhelmed with chagrin. He could already picture
Giraffe laughing at him if he raised his voice and called to the others
to let him know where the camp lay. So he grimly determined to keep
still, and find it for himself.
“Sure, I can do that without much trouble,” he told himself in a
confident tone. “I know now where I made the mistake; and by turning to
the right sharply I’ll come in on them from the other side. If Giraffe
asks me why I did that I’ll give him to understand I was only scouting
around a bit to see what the ground looked like.”
So with his mind temporarily relieved Bumpus once more commenced to push
on. He found it harder going, now that he had abandoned what he had
believed to be the trail to and from the spring. But Bumpus was very
persevering, as most stout fellows seem to be, once they get going. He
labored on until another ten minutes had slipped past. Still there was
no sign of the spot where he had left his three comrades.
Again did he try to figure out where he had made a blunder. Why, this
thing was really getting to be a big joke, and Bumpus feared he would
have to face the music of Giraffe’s scorn after he did manage to find
the rest. For even then his confidence in ultimate success had not been
wholly chilled; it was only a matter of time, and figuring things out.
He tried to determine if he could find the location of the road. This he
might easily have done had there been any travel over it just then; but
unfortunately the guns were growling almost continuously, so that try as
he would he failed to discover any sound of moving vans or advancing
batteries going to the front, it might be Red Cross hospital ambulances
rapidly speeding toward Paris with their loads of grievously wounded
partisans.
When a full half hour had slipped by, as near as Bumpus could gauge
time, he began to realize that after all he had actually lost himself, a
thing he had so loudly boasted could never happen again.
Bumpus was thoroughly disgusted. He hated to lift his voice and try to
attract the attention of his friends. It would make him feel like one of
the helpless babes in the woods to cry for help, and wait there until
one of his chums came out to pilot him into camp.
“Well,” he was saying to himself in a bitter vein, “of all the chumps
you certainly take the cake, Bumpus Hawtree. Now if this were out there
among the Rockies, or in one of the big Maine woods, there might be a
little excuse for your getting mixed in your bearings; but to think of
doing it over here in a silly little French forest! After this I’d
better get them to attach a horn to my neck, so I can blow a blast
whenever I step out of camp, and let them know where I’m at.”
Although heartily ashamed at being compelled to do so, he even throttled
his chagrin enough to raise his voice and try to shout. Somehow or other
the effort did not seem to be much of a success. His voice was husky, so
that he could not do himself justice; and then again those rival guns
kept up such a constant booming sound that it muffled his cries to a
great extent.
At any rate, after keeping this up for a stretch, Bumpus grew
disconsolate and determined not to bother any more.
“I’ll just paddle around a while longer, hoping that something may turn
up to give me a pointer,” he told himself, trying to appear careless as
to results. “But if in the end I fail, why, me to curl up and put in the
rest of the night here. I guess it won’t rain on me; and once morning
comes I’ll find a road that’ll take me somewhere.”
After that he pushed on again, trying a new tack, which seemed to
promise better results. He could tell where the north lay easily enough;
on account of all the firing that was going on; yes, and doubtless Paris
was in the opposite quarter, although he failed to discover signs in the
sky to indicate this fact, such as may usually be found where there is a
big electric-lighted city. The trouble with Bumpus was he could not tell
for the life of him whether his three chums might be found to the north,
east, or west; and that made two chances to one that he was going wrong.
He figured that much more than an hour must have elapsed since he
became—he was going to say “bewildered,” but on second thoughts
pronounced that disagreeable word, “lost.” For aught he knew his chums
might be a mile or two away from him by that time. Bumpus was also
getting pretty tired. His feet felt like clogs, since he was never an
extra good walker.
“Well, I’ve got to come to it, I guess,” he finally observed, as he
wiped his streaming brow with his big red bandanna. “I’ll just push on
about five minutes longer, for it strikes me the woods seem lighter
ahead there. Now it would be a fine thing if after all I ran onto the
road.”
Breaking his way through a jungle of creepers, he presently made a
discovery that started his heart to beating faster than its wont. Sure
enough he had come upon a road. It did not seem to run from north to
south, as that one had upon which they stood at the time they watched
the fluctuations of the terrible battle. However, a road of any kind
encouraged Bumpus.
“I may find some sort of house on it,” he conjectured, sucking in fresh
hope; “where the folks would consent to take me in, give me a royal
feed, and even supply me with a cot for the night.”
That delightful thought buoyed up his drooping spirits wonderfully, so
that he started along the road filled with high hopes. Ten minutes
afterwards he made another pleasant discovery. There was a building to
one side of the road. True, he failed to discover the first sign of any
light about it, but entering the lane leading amidst shrubs and trees,
he approached the structure.
His surprise increased as he drew closer. It was a very large building,
and made of stone at that, as most houses in France seem to be, for wood
is seldom ever used, being too expensive and not lasting enough.
“Say, looks a heap like it might be some queer old rookery, with a tower
up there in the centre,” Bumpus observed, as he stopped to stare again,
having come close to the structure by this time. “I wonder if this is
some sort of sanitarium like the one up there in Antwerp where mother
stayed? Anyway, I guess it’s deserted, all right. Mebbe the military
authorities have ordered the folks to clear out, because it happens to
interfere with gun range. Now, I wonder had I better try to find a bed
in here, or go on further?”
His tired condition forced him to make a decision in favor of a stop.
And once he had really decided, Bumpus lost no time in putting his plan
into execution.
There was no trouble about getting into the building, for the door stood
invitingly open as though hospitality might be a leading feature
connected with the people who had formerly lived here.
Bumpus had some matches with him, and once he found himself in a broad
hall he struck one. This showed him that beyond lay a flight of stairs
leading to the upper story. Still not a sign of anything moving. Bumpus
was more convinced than ever that he had the whole building to himself.
“I’m too dead tired and sleepy now to prowl around looking for any
grub,” he observed, with a sigh; “and a bed is about the best thing I
can think of. When morning comes along, why, I’ll skirmish about, and
see if I can’t pick up a few bites; for sure there must be a kitchen
connected with such a big old establishment; and the cook may have
forgotten to clean it out entirely.”
He dragged his heavy feet up the stone stairs. At the time he vaguely
wondered why everything about him was so severe and cold and plain; and
made up his mind that living in such a sanitarium would be almost like
being in prison. A tired boy, however, could hardly be expected to
bother his head very much over such things. If only he could find some
sort of bed, he would not be so very particular, for Bumpus believed he
did not “care whether school kept or not.”
Once above and he found that there was a long narrow, gloomy corridor,
with numerous open doors on either side, all exactly alike. Other
matches were used to show him what lay inside the rooms.
“Why!” he exclaimed, after he had investigated several of these
apartments, “I declare if they don’t look like regular prison cells. But
each has got an iron cot in it, and I’m bound to keel over right soon if
I don’t find rest somewhere. So here goes.”
There was really little choice when it came to selecting one of the
“cells” for sleeping purposes. Bumpus tried the cot, and found that
while it was a bit hard he could easily accommodate himself to that.
The last the tired boy remembered was chuckling over the thought of
Giraffe saying, “I knew he’d get lost.” Time passed away, and then
suddenly Bumpus sat up on the cot, awakened by a strange, thrilling and
most astonishing sound.