A MUD-BESPATTERED ARRIVAL FROM CALIFORNIA.
Acting upon the suggestion contained in Elta's note, Winn lighted a
fire in the galley stove, and was soon enjoying its cheery warmth.
When the tea was heated, he ate heartily of the supper so thoughtfully
provided by the dear girl, and his heart grew very tender as he thought
of her and of her unwearying love for him. "I ought to go and find her
this very minute," he said to himself; "but I must get dry first, and
there probably isn't any fire up at the house."
To while away the few minutes that he intended remaining on the raft,
Winn got one of the books of exploration from a shelf in the little
after-room, and was quickly buried in the heart of an African forest.
Completely lost to his surroundings, and absorbed in tales of the wild
beasts and wilder men of the Dark Continent, the boy read on and on
until the failing light warned him that his lamp was about to go out
for want of oil.
He yawned as he finally closed the book. "My! how sleepy I am, and how
late it must be," he said. "How the wind howls, too! It sounds as if
we were going to have a storm. I only hope it will bring plenty of
rain and high-water. Then good-bye to home, and hurrah for the great
river!"
By this chain of thought Winn was again reminded of Elta, and of the
forgiveness he had meant to secure from her that evening. "It is too
late now, though," he said to himself. "She must have gone to bed long
ago, and I guess I might as well do the same; but I'll see her the very
first thing in the morning."
With this the tired boy blew out the expiring flame of his lamp, and
tumbled into his bunk, where in another minute he was as sound asleep
as ever in his life.
In the mean time the high-water for which he hoped so earnestly was
much nearer at hand than either he or any one else supposed. The storm
now howling through the pines had been raging for hours about the
head-waters of the creek, and the deluge of rain by which it was
accompanied was sweeping steadily down-stream towards the great river.
Even as Winn sat by the stove reading, the first of the swelling waters
began to rise along the sides of the raft, and by the time the storm
broke overhead the _Venture_ was very nearly afloat.
Although Winn slept too soundly to be disturbed by either wind or rain,
the storm awoke Major Caspar, who listened for some time to this
announcement that the hour for setting forth on his long-projected
journey was at hand. He had no anxiety for the safety of the raft, for
he remembered the stout cable by which he had secured it, and
congratulated himself upon the precaution thus taken. "Besides, Winn
is aboard," he reflected, "and he is almost certain to rouse us all
with the joyful news the minute he finds that the raft is afloat."
Thus reassuring himself, the Major turned over and went comfortably to
sleep.
Elta knew nothing of the storm until morning, but hearing the rain the
moment she awoke, she too recognized it as the signal for the
_Venture's_ speedy departure. From her window she had heretofore been
able to see one corner of the raft; but now, peering out through the
driving rain that caused the forest depths to appear blue and dim, she
could not discover it. With a slight feeling of uneasiness, she
hastily dressed, and went to Winn's door. There was no answer to her
knock. She peeped in. Winn was not there, nor had the bed been
occupied.
"He did spend the night on the raft, then, and so of course it is all
right," thought the girl, greatly relieved at this discovery. "The
_Venture_ must be afloat, though. I wonder if father knows it?"
Just then Major Caspar appeared, evidently prepared to face the storm.
"Well, little daughter," he said, "high-water has come at last, and the
time of our departure is at hand. I am going down to see what Winn
thinks of it."
"Oh, can't I go with you, papa? I should dearly love to!" cried Elta.
"Well, I don't know," hesitated the Major. "I suppose you might if you
were rigged for it."
This permission was sufficient, and the active girl bounded away full
of glee at the prospect of a battle with the storm, and of surprising
Winn on the raft. Three minutes later she reappeared, clad in rubber
boots and a water-proof cloak, the hood of which, drawn over her head,
framed her face in the most bewitching manner.
The Major attempted to protect her still further with a large umbrella;
but they had hardly left the house before a savage gust swooped down
and gleefully rendered it useless by turning it inside out. Casting
the umbrella aside, the Major clasped Elta's hand firmly in his. Then
with bowed heads the two pushed steadily on towards the river-bank,
while the wind scattered bits of their merry laughter far and wide.
It took them but a few minutes to reach the little stream, when their
laughter was suddenly silenced. There was the place where the
_Venture_ had been put together, there was the tree to which it had
been so securely moored; but the raft that had grown into being and
become a familiar sight at that point no longer occupied it, nor was it
anywhere to be seen. Only a flood of turbid waters, fully two feet
higher than they had been the evening before, swept over the spot, and
seemed to beckon mockingly towards the great river.
"Why, the raft has gone!" exclaimed Elta, in a dismayed voice.
[Illustration: "'Why, the raft has gone!' exclaimed Elta"]
"It certainly has," answered the Major, grimly; "and as it cannot
possibly have floated up-stream, it must have gone towards the
Mississippi. I only hope that Winn managed in some way to check and
hold it before it reached the big water; otherwise we may have a merry
hunt for it."
While he spoke they had been hurrying to a point a short distance
down-stream, around which the creek made a bend. From here they could
command a view of half a mile of its course, and somewhere along this
stretch of water they hoped to see the raft safely moored. They were,
however, doomed to disappointment; for as far as the eye could see
there was no sign of the missing craft. Full of conjectures and
forebodings of evil they reluctantly turned back towards the house.
The mill-hands, some of whom were to have formed the crew of the
_Venture_, had already discovered that it was gone. Now they were
gathered at the house awaiting the Major's orders, and eagerly
discussing the situation.
Mrs. Caspar, full of anxiety, met her husband and daughter at the open
door, where she stood, regardless of the driving rain.
"Oh, John!" she cried, "where is Winn? What has become of the raft?
Do you think anything can have happened to him?"
"Certainly not," answered the Major, reassuringly. "Nothing serious
can have befallen the boy on board a craft like that. As to his
whereabouts, I propose to go down to the mouth of the creek at once and
discover them. That is, just as soon as you can give me a cup of
coffee and a bite of breakfast, for it would be foolish to start off
without those. But the quicker we can get ready the better. I shall
go in the skiff, and take Halma and Jan with me."
Nothing so allays anxiety as the necessity for immediate action,
especially when such action is directed towards removing the cause for
alarm. So Mrs. Caspar and Elta, in flying about to prepare breakfast
for the rescuing party, almost worked themselves into a state of
hopeful cheerfulness. It was only after the meal had been hastily
eaten, and the Major with his stalwart Swedes had departed, that a
reaction came, and the anxious fears reasserted themselves. For hours
they could do nothing but discuss the situation, and watch for some one
to come with news. Several times during the morning Elta put on her
water-proof and went down to the mill. There, she would gaze with
troubled eyes at the ever-rising waters, until reminded that her mother
needed comforting, when she would return to the house.
On one of these occasions the girl was surprised to see a saddle-horse,
bearing evidences of a hard journey, standing at the hitching-post near
the front door. But this first surprise was as nothing to the
amazement with which she beheld her mother clasped in the arms of a
strange young man who was so bespattered with mud that his features
were hardly recognizable. Mrs. Caspar was laughing and crying at the
same time, while both she and the young man were talking at once. Near
them, and regarding this tableau with the utmost gravity, was a
powerful-looking bull-dog, who would evidently be pure white when
washed.
For a full minute Elta stood in the doorway gazing wonderingly at this
strange scene. Then her mother caught sight of the girl's wide-eyed
bewilderment, and burst into a fit of laughter that was almost
hysterical.
"It's your uncle William!" she cried, as soon as she could command her
voice. "My little brother Billy, whom I haven't seen for twelve years,
and he has just come from California. Give him a kiss, dear, and tell
him how very glad we are to see him."
Then Elta was in turn embraced by the mud-bespattered young man, who
gravely announced that he should never have recognized her.
"No wonder, for she was only a baby when you last saw her!" exclaimed
Mrs. Caspar; "and I'm sure I should never have recognized you but for
your voice. I don't know how you look even now, and I sha'n't until
you wash your face."
"What's the matter with my face? Is it dirty?" asked the young man.
For answer Mrs. Caspar led him in front of a mirror.
"Well, I should say it was dirty! In fact, dirty is no name at all for
it!" he laughed. "I believe I look about as bad as Binney Gibbs[1] did
when he covered himself with 'mud and glory' at the same time, or
rather when his mule did it for him."
"Who is Binney Gibbs?" asked both Mrs. Caspar and Elta.
"Binney? Why, he is a young fellow, about Winn's age, who went across
the plains with me a year ago. By-the-way, where is Winn? I want to
see the boy. And where is the Major?"
Then, as Mrs. Caspar explained the absence of her husband and son, all
her anxieties returned, so that before she finished her face again wore
a very sober and troubled expression.
"So that is the situation, is it?" remarked the new-comer,
reflectively. "I see that Winn is not behind his age in getting into
scrapes. He reminds me of another young fellow who went campmates with
me on the plains, Glen Matherson--no, Eddy. No; come to think of it,
his name is Elting. Well, any way, he had just such a habit of getting
into all sorts of messes; but he always came out of each one bright and
smiling, right side up with care, and ready for the next."
"He had names enough, whoever he was," said Elta, a little coldly; for
it seemed to her that this flippant young uncle was rather inclined to
disparage her own dear brother. "Yes, he certainly had names to spare;
but if he was half as well able to take care of himself as our Winn is,
no one ever had an excuse for worrying about him."
"No, indeed!" broke in the young man, eagerly; "but I tell you he was--
Why, you just ought to have seen him when--"
"Here comes father!" cried Elta, joyfully, running to throw open the
door as she spoke.
[1] See _Campmates_, by the same Author.