THE FALLEN TREE
Having seen from the classroom a large part of the great oak fall when
the bolt came, the three boys supposed that was the spot where the
tragedy must have taken place. They noticed the havoc the storm had
wrought. Many large limbs of trees were scattered across their path.
In several places the walk was washed out, leaving large gullies. On
the thickly wooded hillside the damage was the greatest.
Arriving at the oak tree they were at a loss. They saw no sign of any
human being. They picked up Smithers' plaid cloth cap which he had
lost in his wild flight homeward. Beecham began to beat it against a
young sapling to rid it of some of the mud.
"We must go farther yet. This is not the place," said Ambrose.
Fully one-third of the great oak tree had been riven from the trunk.
It lay across their path, necessitating a detour amid the still
dripping underbrush to pass it. The oak was in the full of its early
summer foliage, forming an impenetrable green wall across the hillside
path.
As they were threading their way through the thick low growth on the
upper side, Jack Beecham glanced into the dense mass of fallen
foliage. His eyes were caught by something black beneath the green.
Thinking it was perhaps an old log, blown there by the storm before
the lightning damaged the oak, he was about to pass on, but gave a
second look. The black thing under the leaves was surely not a bough!
Again he peered into the tree-top.
"Great heavens! there he is under that oak!" he said.
The three pushing aside the boughs saw the bleeding, white face of
some one who was apparently dead.
"Poor Mr. Shalford!" exclaimed Shealey.
"Nonsense! Don't you see that's not Mr. Shalford at all. It's one of
the boys. Who can it be?"
They all looked again into the leaves, and were satisfied that it was
not their prefect.
"Who is it?" asked Shealey.
"I believe it is--it is Stockley," said Bracebridge.
"You don't say!" exclaimed Shealey, "at all events we must get him out
of that tangle, dead or alive."
"I don't believe that oak killed him, anyway," remarked Jack Beecham.
"Why?" asked Ambrose, in a whisper, for in the presence of death they
were awed.
"Look here," said Beecham, "no big limb has reached him. These twigs
and leaves would give one a sharp switch when falling, and probably
knock him down, but they are too small to break any bones."
"Maybe that's true. Well, we shall soon find out," said Ambrose. "Now,
boys, how are we to get him clear of that tree-top?"
They procured a strong stick, and while two lifted as many of the
small boughs as they could, Bracebridge pushed the pole over the
prostrate body. He then raised his end, the other being on the ground
on the other side of the body. The two other boys took hold of
Stockley's shoulders and successfully drew him from under the tree,
as, fortunately, he had not been caught by any of the larger limbs.
Gently as possible they drew him out from under the mass of foliage,
but gentle as they were, they necessarily used some force. To their
surprise--and satisfaction--they heard him groan. He was not dead
after all, but undoubtedly badly hurt.
No sooner had Stockley been extricated than Mr. Shalford appeared. The
boys who were bending over the prostrate body looked up.
"Oh, sir!" said Ambrose, "we thought it was you," and he pointed to
Stockley. There was love in the tone, making Mr. Shalford treasure the
simple words for many a day.
"Why?"
"That stupid Smithers said so. I think he was too frightened to know
what he was saying."
The moving of Stockley restored him to a state of semi-consciousness,
in which he talked incoherently. One arm hung loosely, evidently
broken above the elbow. When touched in the ribs the suffering boy
groaned aloud, so that it was quite probable that some were fractured.
There was a cut on the forehead, and another on the lower lip. The
injuries, as far as could be then learned, while serious, were not
necessarily fatal.
A priest from the college having arrived, the rest withdrew some paces
while the minister of God tried to elicit some act of conscious sorrow
for sin. It seemed to the boys that he succeeded, for from the
distance they saw him raise his hand and make the sign of the cross as
in sacramental absolution.
"I do not think he will die," said the priest as the others drew near.
"See there, that is what must have done the mischief. He was caught up
here in the wind-storm, and one of those dead limbs struck him. You
say you found him beneath the tops of the fallen oak. Those twigs
could not have inflicted these injuries."
Intermittently Stockley muttered incoherent words. Bracebridge and
Beecham knelt on either side of him, nervously anxious to catch every
sound. Unknown to each other, both had simultaneously formed a strange
suspicion. Once both distinctly heard the words: "Clear--Henning."
What could that mean? They caught the word "letter," but to neither
did this convey intelligence, because neither knew of the existence of
the copy or draft of that letter which Roy Henning had written to some
unknown friend. They heard other disconnected words, for instance,
"sweater," and "Garrett," but these words had no meaning for them.
They did not, for all that, lose a single word, but stored up
everything in their memories, being sure that something would
come of it in good time.
Harry Gill and others arrived with a wire mattress, the best temporary
substitute for a stretcher. There was no lack of willing hands to
convey the injured boy down the hill to the infirmary.
Gill's report of Smithers' frantic words spread like wildfire in the
yard. Most of the boys believed the kindly prefect had been killed by
a falling tree. Few had seen him after the report began, because he
had at once started for the walk.
Notwithstanding the appalling nature of the accident, when the boys
saw Mr. Shalford return safe and sound they could scarce refrain from
giving a hearty cheer. One began to wave his hat and was on the point
of opening his mouth. Mr. Shalford was immensely surprised at such a
strange proceeding at such a solemn moment, never for a moment
dreaming it was all for him. He stopped all noise with an imperative
"Hush!"
All the boys clustered around the infirmary steps awaiting the
reappearance of the prefect. In about half an hour he came. He told the
boys the extent of Stockley's injuries, and said that it was the
physician's opinion that none of the wounds were likely to prove fatal.
"Hurrah for Mr. Shalford!" shouted George McLeod.
"McLeod, are you taking leave of your senses? If you don't be quiet
I'll send you back to Mr. Silverton to the division yard."
But the boys took up McLeod's lead and gave three cheers for the
prefect.
"And what on earth is that for?" he asked.
"Why, sir, don't you know? Smithers said you were killed!"
"Smithers was too excited to know what he was saying."
"But you are not killed--that's the point. Hurrah!" In spite of himself
the prefect was again cheered. Do what he would, put his fingers to his
lips, point to the infirmary, wave down the noise with his hand, he
could not stop the boys giving one more shout for his safety.
When Bracebridge and Beecham were again alone in their room, the
former said:
"What do you make of it all?"
"I think it is very important."
"I think so too."
"You heard all he said?"
"Every word."
"I am not sure," said Jack, "but I believe there is a rift in the
cloud for dear old Roy. Fancy, Brose! suppose this wounded boy should
know all about the robbery!"
"And we could make him tell," added Bracebridge.
"I tell you what I think," continued Jack, "it is my conviction that
he not only knows all about the thieving, but that he----"
"Oh, don't say that," urged Ambrose. "I know what you think. I believe
I think the same, but don't like to give it expression."
"I don't mind doing so if it will lead to the clearing of Henning."
"I wish I knew what he meant--what was on his mind when he mentioned
Garrett and his sweater! And what could he mean by repeating
frequently, 'letter, letter, Garrett.' It's all a mystery to me as
yet. I do wish Roy was here. Maybe he knows what the words mean.
Perhaps Roy could get Stockley to tell who the thief was, that is,
supposing he really knows."
"It seems clear to me," said Beecham, "that Stockley knows something.
But who can say what that something is? Say! Suppose you telegraph for
Henning. Give him to-day's score, too. He'll want to know that."
"That's a great idea. I'll do it," said Ambrose.
"All right. Do it at once, so that he may get the message in time to
start to-night and be here early to-morrow morning, should he consider
the affair important enough."
Thus the telegraphic message was sent to Roy Henning.
When Smithers had recovered from his fright sufficiently to be able to
talk sensibly, Beecham and Shealey plied him with questions about the
accident. He said, substantially:
"We were at the other end of the forest path when the storm came
up--Stockley and I. We took shelter in the cave for some time until
the water began to flow in from above and drove us out. Then we made
for home. It was very dangerous. Sticks and limbs were flying in all
directions. We had passed the big oak by about thirty feet when
Stockley was struck by a piece of a branch about four feet long and as
thick as your arm. It hit him on the arm and on the chest or side. He
fell with a scream. At that moment there came a brilliant flash, and a
bolt of lightning struck quite close to us, blinding me for a few
seconds. I was about ten feet ahead of Stockley when it came. I was so
frightened I thought I would go crazy. When I could see again I saw
the oak tree falling right where he was lying. I never was so
frightened in my life. Then I ran home, believing he was killed. I
don't remember how I got down the hill, or what I said after."
"Will you answer me one question, Smithers?" asked Beecham.
"If I can, yes. What is it?"
"When the accident happened were you two talking about Henning and the
robbery last Christmas?"
"Yes," he answered, "we were. I'm sorry now I had anything to do with
it."
"With what?" asked Beecham with a nervous start. Foolish fellow. He
was not cool enough. The other fellow took immediate alarm.
"Oh, nothing!" and he refused to say anything more, and walked away.
"That was too bad," said Beecham to himself, very much chagrined. "If
I had been a little more diplomatic I might have wormed out of him all
he knew of the matter."
Now Jack was indeed sorely puzzled. Did Smithers mean that he was
sorry that he had talked to Stockley about it, or did he mean that he
was now, under the influence of a great fright, sorry that he had
participated in the robbery?
Beecham sat a long time on a bench tilted against the wall,
disconsolate and severely bringing himself to task.
"Here am I," he said, "with conceit enough to imagine I have brains
enough to become a lawyer, and at the very first opportunity for an
important cross-questioning I make a decided goose of myself. Pshaw! I
wish some one would kick me! I deserve it!"
When Beecham found Bracebridge and told him what he had done, the
latter laughingly admitted the sentence which Jack had passed upon
himself ought to be immediately executed, and volunteered to be the
executioner.
"You did make a mess, of it, certainly. There's no telling what the
boy knows--much more than he will ever reveal, I'm thinking. We can
now only wait for Roy. He wired that he would be here to-morrow
morning."
"'Rah for Roy! He's the one we want!" shouted Jack with renewed
enthusiasm.