GUS IN THE LIME-LIGHT.
This lasted only a short while. Then a change came about that put quite
another face on the matter, and one that looked much less rosy.
Gus, hovering close behind the others, trying to figure out how his
brother was going to take it when he eventually learned of his identity,
and heard the message he was bringing from their devoted mother—Gus felt
his heart apparently jump up into his mouth, when he saw that Sam had
drooped, and was hanging helplessly on his guardians.
Undoubtedly Nature had played out, and the exhausted young fellow could
not go another step of his own volition. He had been sick of late, and
besides that must have suffered considerable privations while leading
that roving, reckless life into which he had latterly drifted.
Had Billy been present his first remark would probably have been,
“here’s a pretty kettle of fish.” On the part of Gus it was a feeling of
intense dismay that gripped his anxious heart. Still that confidence in
Hugh Hardin remained, and so long as the scout master stood by there was
really no reason to give way to utter despair.
He waited only long enough to make sure that they were lowering their
charge to the ground. Gus had no fear that two such staunch fellows as
his chums would dream of giving up the game and deserting Sam then and
there; they were not made of such base stuff as that.
He could see that they had their heads together, and eager to learn what
was in the wind, he pushed up very close, so that he could catch their
words. It was, of course, necessary to almost shout so as to be heard,
and sometimes a sentence was utterly drowned by the crash of falling
timber close by. Nevertheless this is about what the strained ears of
Gus caught.
“He’s all in and done for, that’s sure, Hugh,” Arthur was saying.
“No question about that,” the other went on to say. “I began to guess it
was coming from the way he hung on us. He couldn’t walk ten steps
further if his life depended on it. Poor chap, he’s game, though!”
“Then I reckon we’ll have to carry him,” cried Arthur. “The only trouble
about that is it’s always mighty hard to get a proper grip on a limp
body, and walk for any distance. And I’m afraid it’s going to tax us to
the limit to do that same thing, with this wind blowing forty ways for
Sunday.”
“No use talking, we ought to have some sort of stretcher,” Hugh
admitted. “That’s what makes me feel silly, because of all the things I
thought to fetch along the camp hatchet wasn’t among the lot.”
“Too bad,” said Arthur. “What under the sun will we do about it, Hugh?
To make a stretcher without anything to cut poles with is going to be a
tough job.”
“Oh! Hugh, Arthur, I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” shouted Gus just then, so
excited that he could hardly frame his words coherently.
From his actions any one might think Gus had suddenly been bitten by a
rattlesnake, for he was jumping wildly up and down, and seemed to be
pawing at his leg in a most idiotic manner.
“Got what?” burst from the astonished Arthur.
“The hatchet, don’t you know!” came the answering whoop. “I don’t
understand why I ever thought to snatch it up, and tote it along, but
say, I’m mighty glad now I did. See, here it is, Hugh, and oh! I’m ever
so pleased to handle it.”
When the scout master heard that he gave a shout of joy.
“You’ve saved the day, I tell you, boy!” he exclaimed, slapping the
delighted Gus heartily on the back. “It was an inspiration that made you
think of the hatchet. The credit of the whole undertaking rests on your
shoulders, Gus! Here, give me the blade, and see me get busy.”
“By great good luck,” added Arthur, also decidedly pleased by the new
twist fortune had taken in their behalf, “here are all the poles we need
close by, though without that hatchet they might as well have been in
Africa.”
Hugh had not wasted a second of time.
“You look after Sam, both of you, and rub his limbs,” he told his chums.
“Leave the cutting of the poles to me, though I’ll need help when it
comes to binding them together.”
He said no more than the law allowed, because it was a most arduous task
to do any sort of decent talking in the midst of all that clamor.
Already Hugh had turned in the quarter where Arthur’s extended finger
had pointed at the time he spoke of the “poles” being conveniently near
by.
Long practice had made the scout master a clever hand at using a
hatchet. When a fellow has cut cords and cords of wood for campfires
from time to time, he gets considerable experience in swinging both ax
and hatchet. Besides, Hugh always took especial pains to have every tool
he handled well sharpened, under the plea that a good working edge saved
“heaps” of muscle.
The “poles” mentioned by Arthur were really second-growth ash springing
up all around the butts of several trees that had been cut down a year
or so ago by the lumbermen. They grew straight up, and would possibly
have been used sooner or later by any nomad hoop-pole man wandering that
way in search of material to eke out his scanty winter’s wages.
One after another those slender but stout saplings fell before the keen
edge of the camp hatchet wielded so skillfully by the scout leader.
When Hugh considered that he had felled enough of the stuff, he paused
and began to fumble in his pockets. There was no doubt about his action
this time, because he knew full well he had hurriedly thrust a bundle of
stout cord somewhere about his person before starting forth, under the
conviction that it was going to come in handy.
Meanwhile, Arthur, assisted by Gus, had been rubbing the limbs of poor
Sam, who could not raise his weak voice loud enough to make himself
heard, but by certain gestures gave them to understand that he
appreciated their efforts in his behalf.
“You go and help Hugh, while I stay by Sam, and keep the circulation of
his blood up!” Arthur shouted in the ear of Gus.
The latter, while a little loth to turn aside, knew that he could do
more to help his brother that way than by lingering over him.
Accordingly he hastened to join Hugh, who was already busily engaged in
trying to fasten some of the poles, so as to make the framework upon
which the real stretcher would immediately afterwards be constructed.
Every scout is taught how to do this, for it is a very useful
accomplishment to know, since there is no telling when one of their
number may meet with some accident while in the woods, necessitating his
being carried, perhaps a distance of several miles, and on such an
occasion a stretcher is invaluable.
Possibly, if left to himself, even Gus, although not claiming to be
adept at this sort of work, with the aid of a greenhorn, might have made
some sort of clumsy contrivance that would have answered the end in
view. Fortunately there was now no need of his depending on himself when
in the company of such a clever artisan as Hugh Hardin.
The latter had made stretchers on numerous occasions, but if asked later
about it he would certainly have admitted that never in all his
experience had he worked under such a serious handicap as when that
storm howled about his ears, taking his very breath away.
Gus managed to make himself useful in holding the pieces that were
thrust into his hands, as well as in other ways. His heart was in the
work, and for a good reason. It was his own brother whose life lay in
the balance. He, Hugh and Arthur might survive the night, even if
compelled to remain out in the gale, with the mercury constantly
sinking, but such exposure would undoubtedly be the finish of sick Sam.
The job was really completed in a wonderfully short time, considering
all the difficulties Hugh faced. He often mentally congratulated himself
afterwards on that task, and Hugh ought to be a pretty fair judge of
such things.
Gus, however, was laboring under such a strain that it seemed an
interminable time before he knew from the actions of his comrade that
Hugh considered the rude stretcher fit for service.
The next thing was to get Sam on the same. Of course, the stretcher had
no legs, so that it had to be laid directly on the ground. That mattered
little or nothing, however, for in all probability it would only be
required for this one occasion.
“Got it ready, have you, Hugh?” was the boisterous way Arthur greeted
the others when they came hurrying up with the clumsy but serviceable
stretcher held between them.
“Just as I promised, and done with a rush, too, but it’s going to hold
all right. How is Sam getting along?” Hugh asked, his lips close to the
other’s ear.
“He’s recovering some from his weak spell,” came the reply, as Arthur
drew the scout master’s head down near his lips. “But he never could
walk it, never, Hugh. The sooner we get him under cover the better I’ll
be pleased, for I’m afraid he’s in a bad way.”
It was lucky for the peace of mind of Gus Merrivale that he did not
overhear those last words spoken by Arthur. The sense of exultation and
triumph that was filling his brotherly heart would have received a rude
jolt had he suspected that Arthur, so experienced a physician,
considered the case of Sam as bordering on the desperate.
They quickly placed the almost helpless young fellow on the litter. He
tried the best he could to assist himself, but if the success of the
undertaking had depended on Sam’s ability to do things it would have
been an utter failure.
Gus pushed forward, and somehow Hugh seemed to be able to sense what was
in his mind, for he immediately jerked at Arthur’s sleeve and called in
his ear:
“Let Gus have the rear end of the stretcher, Arthur. He wants to feel
that he’s having a big share in saving a life, and it’s an old story
with us, so you won’t miss anything.”
Arthur was only too willing. He was one of those fellows who like to go
about doing their work without the least bluster or boasting. Indeed,
times without number Arthur Cameron had been known to do his best to
hide his light under a bushel; for he took much more satisfaction from
the inward consciousness that he had done his part manfully than in the
thought of any reward.
When Gus realized that he was to be allowed to handle one end of the
litter on which his erring brother was stretched he showed by his
eagerness that his heart must be filled with gratitude toward these fine
chums who were always doing things to please others.
Hugh himself took the forward end, with Arthur going ahead in order to
pick out the easiest path, though truth to tell there was very little
choice, so long as they were compelled to keep the creek on their right.
Manfully did Gus struggle along. If he staggered at times under the many
difficulties that beset his wavering feet it was only to shut his teeth
together harder than ever, and mentally take a fresh grip on himself.
All that was best in the lad’s nature came to the surface in that trying
hour, and he rose to meet the occasion in a manner that was bound to
give him great satisfaction later on, when memory again brought the
thrilling episodes of that stormy night vividly before his mind.
Thus stumbling, yet always pushing onward, they gradually drew nearer
the vicinity of the old lumber camp, though poor Gus feared he would
never be able to hold out to the end.