THE MAN ON THE LEDGE
"Is he dead?" questioned Chet, in a strained voice.
"I don't know--but I don't think so," answered Andy. "He has certainly
had a nasty tumble."
"It looks to me as if he was going to tumble the rest of the way, unless
he holds on."
"Let us see if we can't help him."
Both youths stood their guns against a tree, and made their way to the
bottom of the cliff. As they did this, they saw the man's body shift
slightly, and then came a low moan.
"He's alive!" cried Andy. "Hi, there!" he shouted. "Look out for
yourself, or you'll get another tumble!"
To this, the man on the ledge did not answer. But the boys, listening
intently, heard him moan again.
"I wonder if we can get at him?" mused Chet. "I don't see any way up the
cliff from here, do you?"
"Oh, we must find a way to get to him!" cried Andy.
"Maybe we can catch him if he falls. If we--Look out!"
Andy leaped to one side, and the next instant the man's gun dropped down
on the rocks and fell in the snow. The game bag followed. They now saw
the man in his unconscious state turn partly over.
"He'll fall sure, unless we help him," said Chet. "But I don't know what
to do."
"I have it," returned his chum. "Come on."
"Where to?"
"I'll show you."
Wondering what his friend had in mind to do, Chet followed Andy to where
was located an ash sapling of fair size. It had been broken off about
two feet above the ground--how, they could not tell.
"We can put that against the cliff, and use it as a ladder," said Andy.
"Provided we can get it over, Andy."
Both began to tug at the sapling, and at last got it free from the stump
end. Then they fairly rushed with it to the bottom of the cliff.
"You hold the end, and I'll raise it up," said Chet, who was a little
the stronger of the two. "We can put the top right against the man, and
that will keep him from rolling down."
"If it will reach that far."
"I think it will."
Their experience as lumbermen stood them in good stead, and while Andy
kept the bottom of the ash sapling from slipping in the snow, his chum
raised it slowly but steadily, until it stood upright. Then Chet let it
go over against the cliff with care, so that the man might not be
further injured. The little tree reached several feet above the man's
head.
"I'll go up and see what I can do for him," said Andy, throwing off his
overcoat. "You steady the tree, Chet."
"All right. But be careful."
From early boyhood days Andy had been a good climber, and he went up the
ash sapling with ease. The young tree was strong, so there was no danger
of its breaking beneath his weight. Soon his feet touched the ledge, and
he knelt down beside the hurt man.
"Why, I know him!" he called down to his chum. "He's the man I told you
about--the one who asked me about the road to Moose Ridge."
"Pull him back, before he has a chance to slip," ordered Chet, and this
Andy did. The movement made the man groan, and presently he opened his
eyes for an instant.
"Oh, what a fall!" he murmured, and then relapsed into unconsciousness
again.
"We'll have to get him down from here and try to do something for him,"
announced Andy. "He has a bad cut behind his left ear. I can't do
anything for him up here--it's too slippery."
"Can't you climb down the tree with him? I'll hold it steady."
"I'll try it."
Andy made his preparations with care, for what he proposed to attempt
was difficult and dangerous. A tumble to the rocks at the foot of the
cliff might mean broken limbs, if not worse.
With care he raised the unconscious form up and placed it over his
shoulder. Then he turned around, and, inch by inch, felt his way out on
the sapling.
"I'm coming!" he called. "Hold it, Chet, or we'll both come down!"
"I'll hold it," was the confident reply.
Gripping the knees of the man with his left hand, Andy held on to the
sapling with his right. Stepping and sliding, he came down slowly. The
young tree bent and threatened once to slip to one side, but Chet braced
it with all his strength. In a minute more Andy was down, and had
stretched the man out on the snow. The boy was panting from his
exertions.
"I suppose we ought to have a doctor for him," said Chet, as he made an
examination of the unfortunate one's wounds. "But I don't know of any
around here."
"Nor do I. We can't leave him here,--he'll freeze to death. Where do you
suppose we ought to take him?"
"I don't know of a single place within a mile,--and I don't suppose we
ought to carry him as far as that. He may be hurt inside, and if he is,
it won't do to move him too much."
Much perplexed by the situation which confronted them, the two boys
talked the matter over. It was so cold at the foot of the cliff that to
remain there was out of the question. At last Chet suggested moving to a
clump of pine trees, where they might fix up some sort of temporary
shelter and build a fire. They picked up their guns and the belongings
of the man, and Chet took the unfortunate over his shoulder. He groaned
several times, but did not speak or open his eyes.
"He is certainly hurt quite seriously," said Andy. "I hope he doesn't
die on our hands."
"Do you know his name, or where he comes from?"
"No, but I guess we can find that out by looking in his pockets. He must
have cards or a notebook, or something."
"He looks as if he was well off. That gun is an A No. 1 piece."
"Yes, and look at the fine clothing he is wearing."
It was a hard walk, and they had to take turns in carrying the
unconscious man. To add to the gloom of the situation, it now commenced
to snow again.
Presently they reached a spot that looked good to them. There were a
series of rocks to the northward, backed up by a thick growth of pines.
At the foot of the rocks grew some brushwood.
Chet had calculated to spend some time hunting, and had with him a
hatchet, with which to cut firewood. In a very few minutes he had cut
out some of the brushwood, leaving a cleared space about eight feet
square. Over the top of the cleared space he threw some saplings and
pine branches, and then "wove in" pine branches around the sides. By
this means he soon had a shelter ready, which, while it was by no means
air-tight, was a great deal better than nothing. On the floor of the
shelter he placed other pine branches, and there he and Andy made the
suffering man as comfortable as possible. As soon as they had reached
the spot, Andy had started up a fire, right in front of the opening, and
this now gave out a warmth that was much appreciated.
With some warm water made from melted snow, the lads washed the wounds
of the man, and then bound them up with strips torn from their shirts.
They used other water for making coffee, and poured some of this down
the man's throat. They also rubbed his hands and wrists, doing what they
could think of to revive him.
In the meantime the snow continued to come down, lightly at first, and
then so thickly that the entire landscape around the shelter was blotted
out.
"It's going to be a corker of a storm," announced Chet, as he gazed out.
"I can't see a thing anywhere," was Andy's answer. "Wonder how long it
will last."
"Several hours, maybe."
"I don't see how we are going to get a doctor to come here while it is
like this."
"Better not try to find one. If you go out, you may lose your way."
They replenished the fire, and cut a good stock of wood, and then sat
down to watch the man. In one of his pockets they found a card-case.
"His name is Barwell Dawson," announced Andy, "and he comes from
Brooklyn."
"What business is he in?"
"It doesn't say."
That the stranger was rich was quite evident. He wore a fine gold watch
and chain, and an elegant diamond ring. In one pocket he had a wallet
filled with bills of large denomination.
"He is one of your high-toned sportsmen," announced Chet. "Some of 'em
come up to Maine every fall to hunt."
"It's a wonder he didn't have a guide, Chet."
"Oh, some of 'em think they can do better without one."
Suddenly the man opened his eyes wide, stared around for a moment, and
then sat up. The change was so unexpected that the boys were amazed.
"Where--Who are you?" he stammered.
"You've had a bad fall--came down over the cliff," answered Andy.
"What? Oh, yes, so I did. I--I----" The man felt of his head. "Why, I'm all
bandaged up!"
"You got cut pretty badly," said Chet. "We're wondering if you broke any
bones."
"Yes?" The man gave a little groan. "I'm hurt, that's sure. Oh!" And
then he put his hand to his side.
"You had better keep quiet for a while," said Andy, gently. "It won't do
you any good to stir around. We'd get a doctor, only it's snowing so
we're afraid we might miss the trail."
"Snowing? It wasn't snowing when I fell."
"That was nearly two hours ago."
"And I've been knocked out all that time?" The man fell back on the pine
boughs. "No wonder I feel so broken up."
He closed his eyes, and the boys thought he was going to faint. Chet got
some more coffee.
"Here, drink this, it will do you good," he said, and placed the tin cup
to the sufferer's lips. The man gulped down the beverage, and it seemed
to give him a little strength. Presently he sat up again.
"Did you two see me take the tumble?" he questioned, with a weak attempt
at a smile.
"I saw you," answered Andy. "You didn't come all the way over the cliff.
You struck a ledge and hung there, and we got you down and brought you
here."
"I see."
"We were afraid some of your bones were broken," put in Chet. "Are
they?"
"I don't know." Slowly the man moved his arms and his legs. He winced a
little.
"All right but my left ankle," he announced. "I reckon that got a bad
twist. Beats the Dutch, doesn't it?" he added, with another attempt at a
smile.
"It's too bad," returned Andy.
"No, you don't understand. I mean my coming to Maine to do a little
quiet hunting, and then to get knocked out like this. Why, I've hunted
all over this globe,--the West, India, Africa, and even in the Arctic
regions--and hardly got a scratch. I didn't think anything could happen
to me on a quiet little trip like this."