THE RESCUE.
“Hugh, he’s gone, don’t you see?” cried Gus, staring around helplessly
in the dim light given by the moon that was hidden somewhere behind
those heavy clouds overhead.
It chanced that the wind slackened its force for a brief spell just
then, allowing, them an opportunity to exchange a few sentences, just as
if the elements felt sorry for the misery of the poor fellow whose heart
was full to overflowing.
“Yes, it looks like it,” Hugh admitted, “but if what Casey told us is
true he must have been too weak to go far. We’ll find him, Gus, I hope.”
The other did not seem to be overconfident, even when he heard Hugh,
whom he trusted as he did no other comrade, try to cheer him up in that
way. A reaction was already setting in. Gus had been buoyed up much of
the time by the hope that kept his heart warm, and now that this seemed
gone a dreadful chill settled down upon him.
Hugh did not mean that this should be the end. He planned to bolster up
the courage of his chum by prompt measures.
“Come,” he told the others, shouting aloud because the wind was rising
again, with all those noises breaking forth around them once more, “what
do we call ourselves scouts for if we can’t handle a little thing like
this?”
“But what can we do, Hugh,” asked Gus. “Which way would we figure we’d
better try and follow, when a dozen directions are open to him?”
“Stop and think,” said the other, quickly; “would a fellow who was weak,
and ready to shrink from the storm, start out by _facing_ it, or going
the other way?”
Gus gave vent to a cry. New hope immediately started to tug at his
heartstrings. Surely, as a scout, he should likewise have reasoned out
things. But then Gus found himself the prey to contending emotions, and
in no condition to figure what the answer to a conundrum might be, as
under more comfortable conditions he would possibly have done.
Yes, it was certainly plausible to believe that the weak and tottering
steps of Sam would carry him with the wind, and not against it. His one
desire, when he moved away from the spot where Casey had left him, must
have simply been to better his condition; and so he would drift along,
the sport of the elements.
Gus watched Hugh as a cat might a mouse upon which it meant to presently
pounce. The scout master was moving slowly up the little gully in which
the tramps had hidden themselves, meaning to go back to the cabin should
the intruders leave the vicinity, sooner or later.
While the place had offered a certain amount of shelter before the
coming of the storm, it was a mere apology of a camp, once that driving
wind started in to whipping the last remaining dead leaves from the hard
wood trees, and levelling many of the pines. Sam must have stood it as
long as he could, and then yielded to the impulse to let the gale urge
him along, in hopes of finding a better shelter.
Hugh was alert and watchful, because he knew that it was an easy thing
to go wrong in a case like this. A false deduction in the beginning
would send them on a wild-goose chase, and with it would go their last
feeble hope of finding the lost tramp.
Hugh even got down on his hands and knees and started to crawl
laboriously up the slight ascent of rocks. At first Gus was bothered to
account for this action on the part of his chum, and even feared that
Hugh may have been more fatigued than he cared to admit. On second
thought Gus arrived at the true explanation of the mystery.
Hugh was acting on the old principle of putting himself in the other
fellow’s place. He meant to try and do just what he imagined the weak
and distressed Sam must have attempted when making this desperate move.
The gully was really nothing more nor less than a slight depression of
the rocks. Its edges were not high enough in any place to effectually
shut out the sweep of the wind. On this account it was likely to prove a
poor sort of shelter, though, for one thing, the danger of falling trees
was not so great here as in many other places, and Sam may have
understood this.
Gus was using his eyes on his own account as they crept along up the
rise in this slow and laborious fashion. In spite of their weak
condition, owing to the wind and the gathering tears, he could manage to
make out some object lying huddled just ahead of them, and toward which
Hugh was moving steadily at the time.
As yet they could not tell exactly whether this might prove to be the
object of their search, or simply an outcropping mass of rock. Another
half minute would tell the tale, and therefore Gus shut his jaws firmly
together, determined to prove himself a credit to his organization.
All doubt was quickly removed when Hugh, turning his head, called back:
“Here he is; we’ve found him!”
It was only natural that the first wild sense of exhilaration that swept
through the breast of the eager brother should be instantly succeeded by
another spasm of acute doubt. Was Sam still alive, or had he made his
very last bid for existence when creeping away from the storm, as he
believed?
Hugh was already bending over the recumbent figure that was huddled in a
knot, as though in the endeavor to better resist the plucking fingers of
the wind. Arthur, too, had pushed forward, his professional instinct
aroused, since it seemed likely that poor Sam would be in need of more
or less help.
Only Gus, who had much more at stake than either of his mates, hung
back, consumed with mingled hopes and fears. He waited to hear whether
good news or bad was coming, after Hugh had learned how matters stood.
And so Gus Merrivale with clenched hands and set jaws held his breath,
and felt his heart beating like mad in his bosom. What agonies the boy
suffered, and how the few seconds must have seemed to him like long
hours—afterwards, under far different conditions, when he allowed his
thoughts to draw him back again to that dreadful moment he always
shuddered at the recollection of what he passed through in so brief a
period of time.
Then a spasm of supreme joy flitted through the heart of Gus. He saw the
recumbent figure on the cold rocks move. Hugh, yes, and Arthur, too,
bending over the tramp had managed to let him know assistance had
arrived, though it must have been hard for him to understand it.
“We have come to try and help you get back to the cabin again,” was what
Hugh was shouting in his ear. “You can’t stay here through the night,
because the chances are this storm will turn into a blizzard before
morning, and you’d freeze to death.”
The castaway upon the rocks seemed to try and stare at them. He
doubtless had hard work convincing himself that he was not dreaming.
“How’d you know I was out here?” Hugh managed to hear him say, as though
that strange fact impressed him most of all in his weakened condition.
“Casey told us,” said Hugh, thinking to humor him a little. “Casey is
back there by the fire in the bunk-house, where we’ll have you in a
jiffy. Do your best to help us, Sam Merrivale.”
“Who are you?” demanded the other, apparently staggered at hearing his
name spoken by one of those boys whose faces he could just dimly see.
“Never mind about that now,” Hugh told him, with that old touch of
authority in his voice that usually carried his point. “In good time
you’ll know all about it. Let us help you get on your feet. You’re to
lean on two of us, while we start back to the creek bed. After that it
won’t be quite so hard going, for we can have the wind at our backs.
Now, Arthur, give me a hand!”
It was really strange how Hugh managed to make himself heard in all that
racket; but then he had one of those voices that carry in spite of all
obstacles. Arthur needed no urging, for he was ever ready to perform the
highest functions of a scout, and put himself to any amount of trouble
in order to relieve distress, or succor a fainting heart.
Sam seemed stiff and weak. At first he could hardly do a thing for
himself, and Hugh seriously considered whether they might not after all
be compelled to carry him on some sort of a rude litter, fashioned on
the spur of the moment.
After he had been enabled to work his limbs a little, however, it seemed
as if some sense of initiative must have come back to the wanderer, for
he even put out one foot and took his first step, without being urged by
his attendants.
Slowly they moved along, down the slight grade, and facing the worst of
the still bitter wind. Gus hovered close behind the others, feeling ever
so much better, now that his worst fears had not been realized. If Sam
could only be taken to the cozy cabin in the old lumber camp owned by
his father, all might yet be well. Gus had great faith in the ability of
Arthur to pull a fellow through when he seemed to be on his last legs.
Yes, he certainly had cause for great rejoicing, and no doubt there was
a song of thanksgiving welling up in his heart that could not wait for
expression until the dawn of the National Day devoted to gratitude
wherever true Americans are found, the world over.
Now they had managed to reach the creek at the second bend, and from
this time on it might be expected they would find the going much easier,
although bad enough at the best. The storm was at their back, and the
haven of the bunk-house just a quarter of a mile away, as they made the
turn, and pushed on resolutely, the two scouts who flanked Sam and
gripped his arms, steadying his feeble steps.