WE climbed over the wall and made our way through the tall grass to the
rear of the house. Eve, as good as her word, walked up to the back door
and knocked. Not, she said, that she expected any answer but just to
satisfy Hattie May.
But Hattie May did not seem at all reassured by the silence that
answered us. “If Hamish is swooned of—or d-dead,” she cried, “of
course he won’t hear! What we’ve got to do is to break down that door!
Or——” she glanced helplessly around—“or get inside somehow. I just
know Hamish is somewhere about this place!”
I saw that she was on the verge of becoming hysterical again.
“Nonsense,” I said, “if Hamish was here, we’d have seen his car,
wouldn’t we?”
“I can’t help it, I’ve got to get inside,” she repeated, her voice
getting more and more raspy and high-pitched. “I guess if your only
brother was lying——” she paused. Eve who had stopped knocking, now
had her hand on the latch. To our utter amazement it turned in her hand
and the door swung inward. Unlocked! What did that mean?
Well to Hattie May it meant just one thing—a confirmation of her worst
fears. She rushed inside. “Hamish!” she cried at the top of her lungs.
“Hamish, where are you?” Her voice went echoing through the big kitchen
and the wide hall beyond. But no other sound answered it. “Hamish!
Hamish, where are you?”
I was still standing just within the doorway. In truth I had little
desire to enter the house again. Suddenly Eve who had not moved from
the threshold, caught me by the elbow. “Listen!” she said, “I thought I
heard something!”
She had swung round and was gazing out toward the garden. And as we
stood there there came to our ears, faint and far away, something which
sounded like a muffled cry. Hattie May turned back. “What is it?” she
asked. “What’s the matter?”
“We thought we heard something outside,” I said. “Listen, there it is
again!” Was it my imagination or was it a cry for help!
“Oh, it’s him—it’s Hamish!” In one dash Hattie May was through the
doorway and running wildly down the grass grown path toward the garden.
“Hamish! Hamish!” she called. And as we sped after her, we heard the
answer again. And this time there was no mistake—“Help, help!” came
the cry!
Through the weeds and brambles we streaked, stumbling over dead
branches, scratching faces and clothes—on and on in the direction of
that cry. Hattie May was in the lead. Once she tripped and fell and Eve
and I had to pull her up. We came to the end of the garden. Beyond the
underbrush was so dense that we could see nothing ahead. But Hattie May
raced on blindly; her hair streaming about her face, her thin dress
torn; while a trickle of blood from a scratch across her nose added to
the general wildness of her aspect.
“Help, help, help!” The cry was quite near now. We came to a straggling
line of stones where a wall had once been. On the other side we made
out the traces of what seemed to be the foundation of an old house. The
cries appeared to come from a spot in the undergrowth just beyond this.
Hattie May plowed on, Eve was at her heels. “Hamish! Where are you?”
“Here I am!” It was Hamish’s voice, there was no mistaking it—but
oddly muffled.
Suddenly ahead of me I saw Eve pause almost like an animal who scents
danger. “Wait!” she cried.
But Hattie May did not heed. “Hamish,” she repeated frantically, “where
are you!” As she spoke I saw Eve reach out and grab her dress skirt.
And she was just in time. A second later, coming up with them, I saw
that they were standing on the very edge of a yawning hole. A rotted
board half covered it but the board was broken and showed new splinters
as if some heavy object had but recently fallen through.
“It’s a well!” Hattie May cried, dropping to her knees and peering into
the blackness below. “Oh, Hamish, are you down there--are you drowned?”
“Get a rope,” came back the voice. “I’m perishin’! Get a rope and a man
quick!”
“Oh, Hamish, are you drowned?” repeated Hattie May wildly.
“Of course he isn’t drowned,” Eve said calmly. “A drowned person
doesn’t scream like that. It’s a dry well, don’t you understand?”
“A dry well!”
“We’ve got to get a man and a rope right away,” Eve went on
practically. “I think we’d better go up to the farm where Michael
works, it can’t be far.”
Hattie May regained some slight semblance of sanity at this suggestion.
“You two go,” she ordered. “I’ll stay here by Hamish. And oh, do hurry,
you can’t tell what awful things are down that well—snakes and
terrible toads! It must be a mile deep, at least it looks it.”
“I’ll stay with Hattie May,” I said. “You go find Michael, Eve.”
So Eve flew away. Hattie May put her face to the hole—while I took
fast hold on what remained of her dress—and called down cheering words
to the prisoner. “Eve’s gone for Michael,” she shouted. “He works up
the road. What? What’s that you said?” She lifted her face from the
hole. “Sandy, did you hear that?”