The fire was now at its height, and many of the men were fighting the
flames as they leaped across from the burning cottage. Therefore, not
many had been called to the help of the refugees from the wrecked
bateau.
"I'll be whip-sawed!" complained Jimson. "Foolin' with their blamed old
bonfire, they might ha' let me an' my negroes drown. This yere little
Yankee boy is wuth the whole bilin' of 'em."
They carried Curly, who was quite unconscious now, into the house. On a
couch in the office Ruth fixed a pillow, and straightened out his
injured leg.
"Isn't there a doctor? Somebody who knows something about setting the
leg?" she demanded. "If it can only be set now, while he is unconscious,
he will be saved just so much extra pain."
"Let me find somebody!" cried Nettie, who knew almost everybody in the
hotel party.
She ran out upon the veranda, forgetting her slippers and silk hose for
the moment, and soon came back with one of the men who had been helping
to throw water against the side of the building.
"This is Dr. Coombs. I know he can help you, Ruth--and he will."
"Boy with broken leg, heh?" said the gentleman, briefly. "Is that all
the damage?" and he began to examine the unconscious Curly. "Now, you're
a cool-headed young lady," he said to Ruth; "you and Jimson can give me
a hand. Send the others out of the room. We're going to be mighty busy
here for a few minutes."
He saw that Ruth was calm and quick. He had her get water and bandages.
Mr. Jimson whittled out splints as directed. The doctor was really a
veterinary surgeon, but when the setting of the broken limb was
accomplished, Curly might have thanked Dr. Coombs for a very neat and
workmanlike piece of work. But poor Curly remained unconscious for some
time thereafter.
The flames were under control and the danger of the hotel's catching
fire was past before the boy opened his eyes. He opened them to see Ruth
sitting at the foot of the couch on which he lay.
"Old Scratch!" exclaimed Curly, "don't tell Gran, Ruth Fielding. If you
do, she'll give me whatever for busting my leg. Ooo! don't it hurt."
He had forgotten for the moment that he had ever left Lumberton, and
Ruth soothed him as best she could.
The bustle and confusion around the hotel had somewhat subsided. The
regular guests had retired to their rooms, for it was past midnight now.
The water was creeping higher and higher, and now began to run in over
the floor of the lower story.
By Ruth's advice, Helen and Nettie had gone up to their rooms. They had
allowed Mrs. Holloway to put two young ladies in one of the beds there,
for the hotel keeper had to house many more than the usual number of
people.
Ruth alone stayed with Mr. Jimson to watch Curly. And when the water
began to rise she insisted that the couch be lifted upon the shoulders
of four powerful negroes, and carried upstairs.
One of the men who transferred the boy to the wide hall above, was the
darkey whom Curly had saved from drowning. That negro was so grateful
that he camped upon the stairs for the rest of the night, to be within
call of Ruth or Mr. Jimson if anything was needed that he could do for
"dat li'le w'ite boy."
Mrs. Holloway found a screen to put at the foot of the couch, and thus
made a shelter for the boy and his nurse. But Ruth knew that many of the
ladies before they went to bed came and peeped at her, and whispered
about her together in the open hall.
She wondered what they really thought of her and Helen. The positive
Miss Miggs had undoubtedly made an impression on their minds when she
accused Ruth and Helen of stealing.
"What they really think of us, we can't tell," Ruth told herself. "It is
awful to be so far from home and friends, and have no way of proving
that one is of good character. Here is poor Curly. What is going to
become of him? His grandmother hasn't answered my letters, and perhaps
she won't have anything to do with him after all. What will become of
him while he lies helpless? He can't have earned much money in these few
days over at the warehouse, for they don't pay much."
Ruth Fielding's sympathetic nature often caused her to bear burdens that
were imaginary--to a degree. But it was not her own trouble that worried
her now. It was that of the boy with the broken leg.
He was a stranger in a strange land, and with practically nobody to care
how he got along. He had played a heroic part in the rescue of Mr.
Jimson and the negro workman; but Ruth doubted greatly if either of the
rescued men could do much for poor Curly.
Jimson was a poor man with a large family; the negro was, of course,
less able to do anything for the white boy than the boss of the
warehouse.
These thoughts troubled Ruth's mind, sleeping and waking, all night. She
refused to leave Curly; but she dozed a good deal of the time in the
comfortable chair that the negro had brought her from the parlor
downstairs.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Holloway came to speak to her, or to see how Curly
was, all night long. Yet Ruth knew that both were working hard, with the
negroes in their employ, to make all their guests comfortable.
Back of the hotel on slightly higher ground were the kitchens and
quarters. To these rooms the stores were removed and breakfast was begun
for all before six o'clock.
By that time the clouds had broken and the sun shone. But the river
roared past the hotel at express speed. Jimson said he had never seen it
so high, or so furious.
"There's a big reservoir above yere, up the creek; I reckon it's done
busted its banks, or has overflowed, or something," the boss of the
warehouse said. "Never was so much water in this yere river at one time
since Adam was a boy, I tell yo'."
The girls came for Ruth before breakfast, and made her lie down for a
nap. The two strange girls who had been put in their rooms were still in
bed, and Ruth was not disturbed until the negroes began coming upstairs
with trays of breakfast for the different rooms.
There was great hilarity then. There was no use in trying to serve the
guests downstairs, for the dining room had a foot of water washing
through one end of it, and the rear was several inches deep in a muddy
overflow.
The two girls who had slept with them awoke when Ruth did, and all five
of the girls, with Norma to wait upon them, made a merry breakfast. Ruth
ran back then to see how Curly was being served. She found the boy
alone, and nobody had thought to bring him any food save the grateful
negro laborer.
"That coon's all right," said Curly, with satisfaction. "He got me half
a fried chicken and some corn pone and sweet potatoes, and I'm feeling
fine. All but my leg. Old Scratch! but that hurts like a good feller,
Ruth Fielding."
"Dear me!" said Ruth. "Don't speak of the poor man as a 'coon.' That's
an animal with four legs--and they eat them down here."
"And he wouldn't be good eating, I know," chuckled Curly. "But he's a
good feller. Say, Ruthie! how did you and Helen Cameron come 'way down
here?"
"How did _you_ come here?" returned Ruth, smiling at him.
"Why--on the boat and on a train--several trains, until I got to Pee Dee.
And then a flatboat. Old Scratch! but I've had an awful time, Ruth."
"You ran away, of course," said the girl, just as though she knew
nothing about the trouble Curly had had in Lumberton.
"Yep. I did. So would you."
"Why would I?"
"'Cause of what they said about me. Why, Ruth Fielding!" and he started
to sit up in bed, but lay down quickly with a groan. "Oh! how that leg
aches."
"Keep still then, Curly," she said. "And tell me the truth. _Why_ did
you run away?"
"Because they said I helped rob the railroad station."
"But if you didn't do it, couldn't you risk being exonerated in court?"
"Say! they never called you, 'that Smith boy'; did they?"
"Of course not," admitted Ruth.
"Then you don't know what you're talking about. I had no more chance of
being exonerated in any court around Lumberton than I had of flying to
the moon! Everybody was down on me--including Gran."
"Well, hadn't they some reason?" asked Ruth, gravely.
"Mebbe they had. Mebbe they had," cried Henry Smith. "But they ought
to've known I wouldn't _steal_."
"You didn't help those tramps, then?"
"There you go!" sniffed the boy. "You're just as bad as the rest of
'em."
"I'm asking you for information," said Ruth, coolly. "I want to hear you
say whether you did or not. I read about it in the paper."
"Old Scratch! did they have it in the paper?" queried Curly, with
wonder.
"Yes. And your grandmother is dreadfully disgraced----"
"No she isn't," snapped Curly. "She only thinks she is. I never done
it."
"Well," said Ruth, with a sigh, "I'm glad to hear you say that, although
it's very bad grammar."
"Hang grammar!" cried the excited Curly. "I never stole a cent's worth
in my life. And they all know it. But if they'd got me up before Judge
Necker I'd got a hundred years in jail, I guess. He hates me."
"Why?"
Curly looked away. "Well, I played a trick on him. More'n one, I guess.
He gets so mad, it's fun."
"Your idea of fun has brought you to a pretty hard bed, I guess, Curly,"
was Ruth Fielding's comment.