THE MESSAGE
The altogether thrilling and extraordinary occurrence which is all that
remains to be told in this narrative, was witnessed by a dozen or more
scouts. It happened, as deeds of heroic impulse always happen, suddenly,
so that afterwards accounts differed as to just how the thing had
occurred. There are always several versions of dramatic happenings. But
on one point all were agreed. It was the most conspicuous instance of
outright and supreme heroism that Temple Camp had ever witnessed or
known. And because there was no scout award permissible in the occasion,
the boys of camp, with fine inspiration, named the new dam after the
hero, who with soul possessed challenged the most horrible monster of
which the human mind can conceive, threw his life into the balance with
an abandon nothing less than sublime, and found his reward in the very
jaws of horrible and ghastly death.
And the dam was well named, too, for it represented strength superseding
weakness. If you should ever visit Temple Camp you should end your
inspection in time to row across the lake in the cool of the twilight,
when the sun has gone down behind the mountain, and take a look at
_Robin Hood's Dam_.
The scene was the usual morning scene. The slanting sifter was dropping
its rain of dirt through the grating and sending the stones rolling
down. The mixer was revolving. A hundred feet or so from the shore the
clumsy old dredge was drawing up sand from the bottom of the lake, and
the big pipeline running to shore was pulsating so that the floats
supporting it rocked in the water. At the end of this pipeline was a big
pile of wet sand from the lake. Men were carrying this sand off in
wheelbarrows.
A few of the scouts were busy at their favorite pastime of walking along
this shaking pipeline to the dredge from which they would dive, then
swim to the nearest point on shore and proceed again as before. Hervey
Willetts had been the Christopher Columbus to discover this endless
chain of pleasure and he had punctuated it with many incidental stunts.
It was not altogether easy to walk on the trembling wet piping, but
those who did it were of course in bathing attire, and with bare feet it
was not so hard, once one got the hang of it.
The sight of this merry procession proceeding on its endless round
proved too much for one pair of eyes that watched wistfully from the
shore. One after another the dripping scouts came scrambling up out of
the water, proceeded to the shore end of the pipeline, walked cautiously
along it, feet sideways, crossed the dredge, dived and presently
appeared again. "_Follow your leader_" they were singing and it was
funny to hear how they picked up the tune and got into time upon
emerging.
This kind of thing was hard to resist. It is hard not to dance when the
music is playing. There was an alluring fascination about it.
Suddenly, to the consternation of every one, there was Goliath in the
procession, moving along the pipeline, keeping his foothold by frantic
gesticulations with his arms. He was laughing all over his little face.
He swayed, he bent, he almost fell, he got his balance, almost lost it,
got along a few steps, and then down he went with a splash into the
water.
This climax of his wild enterprise occurred in a gap of the procession.
Some scouts had fallen out, others were clambering out the other side of
the dredge. So it happened that the splash was the first thing to
attract attention.
Goliath did not reappear and before any one had a chance to dive or knew
just where to dive, something was apparent, which sent a shudder through
Tom Slade, who was standing near the end of the pipeline. The pouring
forth of the wet sand out of the pipe ceased, or rather lessened and the
substance shot out in little jerks. Tom, ever quick to see the
significance of a thing, knew this for what it was. It was an awful
message from the bottom of the lake.
Something was clogging up the suction pipe there.