LOST ON THE MOUNTAIN
Roger seemed to be sinking down into some dark pit, falling lower and
lower, until he appeared to strike against something and bound upward. A
myriad of stars danced before his eyes, and, as he thus floated upward,
he instinctively put up his hands to avoid contact with whatever might
be above him. Then, with a suddenness that startled him, he came to his
senses and found himself sitting at the side of the road, in the damp
grass, while all around was pitchy blackness.
He rubbed his eyes and the back of his head, and he was somewhat alarmed
when his hand came away wet with blood from a slight wound. He tried to
stand, but found he was too tottery on his legs.
"Well," he managed to say, "there must have been an accident. I fell off
the wagon, that's sure, and from the way my head feels I must have
struck on a stone. Guess I cut myself too, but not badly," as he failed
to find any serious wound on his scalp.
He rubbed his hands in the damp grass and drew them out dripping with
dew. He dabbled this water on his forehead and felt better.
"I think the horse must have run away," he went on, "or else I'd see
something of Adrian by this time, though it's as dark as a pocket here,
and hard enough to locate your hand before your face, let alone somebody
away down the road."
Roger listened intently, but could catch no sound of rattling wheels,
nor the beating of a horse's hoofs, which might have indicated that the
wagon was coming back. All about was silence and darkness. The boy tried
again to stand up, and found that his momentary weakness had passed.
"I guess I'd better walk on until I meet Adrian," he said to himself.
"He'll be sure to be coming back soon," and he started off in the
direction he thought was toward Cardiff.
Now if Roger had lived all his life in the country, or if he had been
more familiar with the road, he probably would have had no trouble in
starting on the right way back home. Very likely he would have done so
instinctively; or he might have gotten his bearings from the stars,
which shone overhead, though somewhat dimly. As it was, he became
confused in the darkness, and, owing to a slight dizziness caused by his
fall, instead of going toward Cardiff, he began walking back toward
Tully.
He was a little sore and stiff at first, but, as he went on, this
disappeared, and he stepped out briskly enough. He thought he would not
have far to go before meeting his cousin, but, as he walked farther and
farther, he commenced to wonder what had become of Adrian. But then, he
reassured himself, perhaps Adrian had had some trouble in bringing the
old white horse to a stop, though the animal had not seemed to be such a
mettlesome steed.
"But I'll meet him soon, now," said Roger, trying to comfort himself.
He could feel the soft dusty road under his feet, and its whiteness was
like a big indistinct chalk mark on a large blackboard, as it came
faintly through the darkness. But, somehow or other, in a little while
the white mark seemed to be fading away. It grew so dim that even by the
hardest squinting of the eyes, it could no longer be seen. It appeared
also that the character of the road was changing. It was no longer dusty
and soft, but hard, and firm, and, instead of going down hill, Roger
found himself ascending the grade.
"Hold on!" exclaimed the boy, "this is queer. I must have turned
around."
He came to a sudden stop. Was he off the road? Was he lost? He hurriedly
searched through his pockets and found a single match. Here was
something that would aid him, though ever so slightly. With unsteady
fingers he struck the little fire-stick. It flared up, sputtered and
flickered, and, a second later, blazed brightly. Holding it above his
head, so the glow might light all around him, he peered about in the
gloom which was but faintly illuminated by the tiny flame.
What was his terror to see, on every side of him, a tall and thick
undergrowth of bushes and lofty trees. Beneath his feet was a narrow
path, while the forest appeared to meet above his head in a black arch.
Then, with a start, he realized he was lost; lost on the mountain, lost
in the dense woods about Cardiff. He did not know which way to turn.
Now if Roger had been an older boy or a sturdy country lad, he would
have laughed at the plight in which he found himself,--laughed a bit and
then tramped on and sat down, to wait until morning. But, as it was,
Roger was never more frightened in his life. Once he had been lost in
New York, when he was a little chap. But a big policeman had picked him
up and taken him to a precinct station-house, where he was kept until
his father, missing him, came after the lost boy.
But out here in the country there were no blue-coated officers on the
lookout for lost people. There were no police stations, no street
lights, no lights at all, in fact, save the little flicker that had died
away when Roger's single match went out.
When the last spark had become dim the boy's breath came with a gasp. He
wanted to run away from the blackness, but where could he flee to escape
it, for it was all about him. He felt like crying out; like shouting for
help. Then he suddenly recalled something his father had once said to
him.
"Roger, if you ever find yourself in danger, in a fire, or in any
position where you feel you'll lose your presence of mind, just stop,
and count ten. Then you'll be able to think calmly, and be able to help
yourself, and perhaps others."
This came back to the boy like a flash. He resolved to put it into
practice. Slowly he counted--1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. He said each
number in a loud voice. Even hearing his own tones did him good, and,
before he had reached the "nine" he felt himself growing calmer. At the
end he was less frightened, and he could think more clearly. Then he
began to reason, and before he knew it, he was turning a plan over in
his mind.
"I must have branched off the road into a path that goes through the
woods," he said, "and, at the same time, I must have got turned around,
and gone up hill, instead of down. Now let's see. If I turn back and
walk in just the opposite direction from which I'm facing now, and if I
am careful to keep going down hill, and stay in this path until I strike
the road again, I'll probably come out safely. So, then, right about
face! Forward, march!" He executed the command and started off bravely
in the other direction.
Roger now went along more slowly. He was cautious about where he set his
feet, that he might not stray from the path, and occasionally he stooped
down, and with his hands he felt the dirt under foot, to be positive he
was on the hard, packed path and not travelling over the wood-carpet. He
was in better spirits now and was sure he was going back the right way.
He even began to whistle a little tune and already saw himself safe in
his uncle's house, laughing with Adrian over their adventure.
But when he had gone on for some time in this way, there came over him a
nameless sense of disquietude. After all, was he really retracing his
steps, or was he advancing deeper into the woods? If he had a match or
two he could have easily seen his position. But he had not one. However,
he reflected, the nature of the ground he was travelling over might now
be of assistance to him. He leaned over again to feel of the way. As he
did so he brushed against some low-hanging branches of the trees, and
then, when his hand came in contact with the earth, Roger was startled
to find it met neither the hard packed clay of the path, nor the dust of
the road, but the dead leaves, the little twigs and broken limbs of
trees, and the soft moss of the forest.
Now, indeed, he knew he was fairly lost, and, when he stopped, and
listened intently, he heard, all around him, the rustle of the foliage,
the creaking of the boughs and the rattle of the branches of the deep
woods. He had now absolutely no sense of direction, no knowledge of
which way to turn. He caught his breath with a gasp, and then, feeling
his legs giving way beneath him, he put out his hands, which came
sharply up against a tree trunk, as he sank down on a fallen log.
For a few minutes Roger thought the fierce beating of his heart would
smother him. Then, realizing he must play the man now, he shut his lips
firmly, clenched his hands, and stared determinedly into the blackness
that was all around him.
"What a baby I am," he said. "All I have to do is to sit here until it's
light. Then I can easily get back into the path, or some one will find
me. That's what I'll do. I'll not move from this spot until I can see
where I am going."
So he made himself as comfortable as possible on the log, turned up his
coat collar, for it was cold, braced his back against the tree, and made
ready to sit out his vigil until morning. His first fear over, he now
looked upon the occurrence as a sort of queer little adventure.
"It will be something to write to mother about," he said, as he pulled
his hat on tightly.
For perhaps half an hour the boy sat there. He thought of all sorts of
things,--of his father, of his mother, and his little brother at
home--of how he had come to Cardiff. He went over all that he and Adrian
had done since he arrived.
Then he began to nod; a little at first, then more and more, until he
caught himself falling forward, almost asleep.
"My, my! I mustn't go off like this," he said, rubbing his eyes. "It
won't do to take a snooze here."
For a time he fought off the drowsiness, only to find it coming over
him more and more strongly. Oh, how nice it was out here in the woods.
There was a gentle wind, the leaves seemed to rustle and whisper
to him. Ah! He was floating away--away--off--off--to the land--of
nod--to--the--land--of--nod--the--land--of--nod--nod--nod!
Then! Roger was fast asleep!
No! Not asleep! He was on the verge. Just going to tumble over into the
finest feather bed he ever knew, when there was a noise that sounded
like a clap of thunder.
Crash!
Roger sat up, clutching the tree, against which he leaned, with a grip
of terror. His heart was going like a trip-hammer. There was the echo of
a great roaring in his ears. For a second he could not tell where he
was. Then came another noise, less loud.
Snap!
Ah! It was only the breaking of a twig. He calmed down. But what did it
mean? Somebody must be coming to find him. Of course, that was it.
Adrian and his father were searching.
Roger leaped to his feet. He peered into the darkness.
"Here I am, Adrian!" he called. "Here I am! Hey! Here's Roger!"
The echo of his own cry was the only answer. Then came another crackle
of the twigs, as if some one was approaching nearer. Roger strained his
eyes into the black depths of the forest. He could make out nothing.
Then, as he kept his gaze fixed on one spot, he saw something which
seemed to chill his heart. It was two small balls of greenish-red fire,
and they looked right at him. At the same time there came to the boy's
ears the sound of an angry snarl.