TIP’S DANGER.
The work of preparing the dinner had occupied so much time that it was
nearly the regular hour for supper before the last boy arose from the
lowly table, and not one of them had any desire to fish or hunt. They
sat around the fire, dodging the smoke as best they could, until the
setting sun warned them that they must get their bedroom work done at
once, or be obliged to do it in the dark.
This task was remarkably simple; it consisted in each boy finding his
blanket, wrapping himself in it, and lying on the ground, all in a row,
like herrings in a box.
Nor did they wait very long for slumber to visit their eyelids, for in
ten minutes after they were ready it came to all, even to Tip, who had
curled himself up snugly under Tim’s arm.
Had any of the party been experienced in the sport of “camping out,”
they would have studied the signs in the sky, for the purpose of
learning what might have been expected of the weather; but as it was,
they had all laid themselves down to sleep without a thought that the
dark clouds which had begun to gather in the sky were evidences of a
storm.
It was nearly midnight, and up to that time not one of them had
awakened from the heavy sleep into which he had first fallen, when Tim
became painfully aware that something was wrong. He had been dreaming
that he was again on the _Pride of the Wave_, that Captain Pratt had
thrown him overboard because he had been trying to steer, and just as
he struck the water he awoke, with a start.
The moment his eyes were open he understood the reason for his dream:
he was lying in a large pool of water, and the blanket in which he had
wrapped himself so comfortably was thoroughly saturated with it. At
first he was at a loss to account for this sudden change of condition,
and then the loud patter of rain on the canvas roof told the story
plainly. A storm had come up, and the tent, being on the slope of a
hill, was serving as a sort of reservoir for little streams of water
that were rapidly increasing in size.
Tip, roused by his master’s sudden movement, had started from his
comfortable position and walked directly into the water, very much to
his discomfort and fear; howling loudly, he jumped among the sleepers
with such force as at once to awaken and terrify them.
It required but a few words from Tim to make them understand all that
had happened, for some of them were nearly as wet as he was, and all
could hear the patter of the rain, which seemed to increase in violence
each moment.
A lonesome prospect it was to think of remaining in the tent the rest
of the night, unable to sleep because of the water that poured in under
the canvas, or trickled down through three or four small holes in the
roof.
For several moments none of them knew what to do, but they stood
huddled together in sleepy surprise and sorrow, until Tim proposed
that, since he could hardly be more wet than he was, he should go out
and dig a trench which would lead the water each side of the tent. But
that plan was abandoned when it was discovered that a hatchet and a
spoon were the only effective tools they had.
In order to get some idea of the condition of affairs, Tim lighted
first one match and then another; but the light shed was so feeble
that Captain Jimmy proposed building a small fire, which would both
illuminate and heat the interior.
Tim acted upon this suggestion at once. With some newspapers and small
bits of wood that were still dry he succeeded in kindling such a
blaze as shed quite a light, but did not endanger the canvas. But he
forgot all about the smoke, and this oversight he was reminded of very
forcibly after a few moments.
Careful examination showed that the water only came in from the upper
or higher side of the tent, but it was pouring in there in such
quantities that before long the interior would be spread with a carpet
of water.
“We’ve got to dig a ditch along this side, so’s the water will run
off,” said Tim, after he had surveyed the uncomfortable-looking little
brooks, and waited a moment, in the hope that Bill or Captain Jimmy
would suggest a better plan.
All saw the necessity of doing something at once, and the moment Tim
gave them the idea they went to work with knives, spoons, or any other
implements they could find. It did not take much time, even with the
poor tools they had, to dig a trench that would carry away any moderate
amount of water, and after that was done they gathered around the fire
for consultation.
But by that time they began to learn that smoke was even more
uncomfortable to bear than water. For some time it had been rising to
the top of the tent, escaping in small quantities through the flaps and
holes; but only a portion of it had found vent, and the tent was so
full that they were nearly suffocated.
They covered their eyes, and tried to “grin and bear it”; but such
heroic effort could only be made for a short while, and they were
obliged to run out into the pelting rain in order to get the pure air.
It was no fun to stand out-of-doors in a storm, and, acting on Captain
Jimmy’s suggestion, the party returned after a few moments to “kick the
fire out.”
But such a plan was of very little benefit, since the embers would
smoke despite all they could do, and out they ran again, seeking such
shelter as they could find under the trees, where it was not long
before they came to the conclusion that camping out in a rain-storm was
both a delusion and a snare.
In half an hour the tent was so nearly freed from smoke that they
sought its shelter again, and when they were housed once more they
presented a very forlorn appearance.
At first they decided that they would remain awake until daylight; but
as the hours rolled on this plan was abandoned, for one after another
wrapped himself in his blanket, concluding he could keep his eyes open
as well lying down, and proved it by going to sleep at once.
They did not sleep very soundly, nor lie in bed very late. When they
awakened it was not necessary to look out-of-doors in order to know if
it was raining, for the water was falling on the thin shelter as hard
and as persistently as if bent on beating it down.
There was but one happy-looking face among all the party, and that
belonged to Tim. He realized that it would be impossible to do much
cooking while it was storming, and after his experience with the hen he
had no desire to begin again his official duties.
As soon as the boys were fairly out of bed they began to ask how
breakfast could be cooked, and what they were to have in the way of
food, all of which questions Tim answered in a way that left no chance
for discussion. He cut eleven slices of bread, spread them thickly with
butter, placed over that a slice of cake, and informed the party that
they would begin the day with just that sort of a breakfast.
Of course there was some grumbling, but the dissatisfied ones soon
realized that Tim had done his best under the circumstances, and they
ate the bread and cake very contentedly.
That forenoon was not spent in a very jolly manner; no one could go out
save at the risk of a thorough wetting, and when dinner, consisting of
the same as was given for breakfast, was served, they began to consider
themselves an injured party.
That afternoon was a repetition of the forenoon, save that at
supper-time Tim gravely informed them that there was hardly enough
cooked provisions for breakfast.
Tip got along much better than the others. As soon as he learned that
he could not venture outside of the tent without getting wet, he curled
himself up on the pile of blankets and slept the day away, save at
those times when some one would rouse him up to play――a liberty which
he resented in such a manner as caused them to leave him alone very
soon.
Nearly every five minutes some one of the boys would open the flaps of
the tent, look out, and announce it as his opinion that the storm was
clearing away; but yet it continued to rain as hard as ever.
Unfortunately for them, the boys were not as sleepy when the second
night came, and the evening spent in the dark was not a cheerful one.
The rain was still coming down as steadily as ever, and they had ceased
to speculate as to when it would stop. It was after they had been
sitting in mournful silence for some time that Bill Thompson started
what was a painful topic of conversation.
“How long will the victuals last, Tim?”
“They’re ’most gone now, ’cept the pork an’ ’taters, an’ the eggs, that
I never thought of till a minute ago.”
“If it would only stop rainin’, Jim could go out fishin’, an’ I could
go out huntin’, and in a day we could get more’n the crowd of us could
eat in a week. I’ll tell you what I will do”――and Bill spoke very
earnestly――“I’ll take Tip an’ go out alone in the mornin’, whether it
rains or not.”
“Why not all go?” said Tim, pleased with the plan. “Supposin’ we do get
wet, what of that? We can get dry again when the sun does come out, an’
it’ll be better’n stayin’ here scrouchin’ around.”
There were a number of the boys who were of Tim’s way of thinking, and
the hunting party was decided upon for the following day, regardless of
the weather.
That night seemed a long one, and when the morning came each one looked
anxiously out at the sky, gaining but little comfort from the view.
The clouds were dull and gray; and though the rain was not falling
as furiously as it had been, it was still coming down in the same
determined way.
Tim made an addition to the rather small slices of bread and cake, in
the shape of two raw eggs to each boy; and though some of them rebelled
at the uncooked food, they were wise enough to suck them before they
grumbled very loudly.
After breakfast some of the boys who had been the most determined to
join the hunting party the night before, concluded to wait a while
longer before setting out, and the consequence was that no one save
Tim, Bill, and Bobby had the courage to brave the drenching which it
was certain they must get.
This time Bill had a more effective weapon than the one he used at the
bear hunt. He had borrowed a fowling-piece of quite a respectable size,
and had brought with him a supply of powder and shot.
When Tip was called to join the party he did not display the animation
usual with him when invited out for a day’s sport, and Tim blamed him
severely for it. But he went, however, and Tim’s scolding seemed to
have very little effect upon him.
Believing they should come back staggering under the weight of game
which Tip would find and Bill would kill, the boys left the tent, going
up the path, since they did not dare to strike through the thickest
part of the woods, for fear of getting lost.
Bill covered the lock of the gun with the corner of his jacket, to
prevent the cap from getting wet, and on they went, rapidly getting a
drenching both from the rain and the water which came from the branches
of the trees.
For some time Tip steadily refused to run among the bushes, but after
much urging he did consent to hunt in a listless sort of way, barking
once or twice at some squirrels that had come out of their holes to
grumble at the weather, but scaring up no larger game.
Just at a time when the hunters were getting discouraged by their
ill-luck, Tip commenced barking at a furious rate, and started off
through the bushes at full speed.
Bill was all excitement; he made up his mind that they were on the
track of a deer at last, and was ready to discharge his weapon at the
first moving object he should see.
After running five minutes, during which time they made very little
progress, owing to the density of the woods, Bobby halted suddenly and,
in an excited manner, pointed toward a dark object some distance ahead,
which could be but dimly seen because of the foliage.
Bill was on his knee in an instant, with gun raised, and just as he was
about to pull the trigger Tim saw the object that had attracted Bobby’s
attention.
He cried out sharply, and started toward Bill to prevent him from
firing, but was too late. Almost as he spoke the gun was discharged,
and mingled with Tim’s cries could be heard the howling of a dog.
“You’ve shot Tip! you’ve shot Tip!” cried Tim, in an agony of grief, as
he rushed forward, followed by Bill and Bobby, looking as terrified as
though they had shot one of their companions.
When Tim reached the spot from which the cries of pain came he found
that his fears were not groundless, for there on the wet leaves,
bathed in his own blood, that flowed from shot-wounds on his back and
hind-legs, was poor Tip. He was trying to bite the wounds that burnt,
and all the while uttering sharp yelps of distress.
Tim, with a whole heart full of sorrow such as he had never known
before, knelt by the poor dog’s side, kissing him tenderly, but
powerless to do anything for his suffering pet save to wipe the blood
away. His grief was too great to admit of his saying anything to the
unfortunate hunter who had done him so much mischief, and poor Bill
stood behind a tree crying as if his heart was breaking.
Each instant Tim expected to see Tip in his death struggle, and he
tried very hard to make the dog kiss him; but the poor animal was in
such pain that he had no look even for his master.
It was nearly fifteen minutes that the three were gathered around the
dog expecting to see him die, and then he appeared to be in less pain.
“Perhaps he won’t die after all,” said Bill, hardly even daring to hope
his words would prove true. “If we could only get home Dr. Abbott would
cure him.” Then, as a sudden thought came to him, he turned quickly to
Bobby, and said, eagerly: “Run back to the camp as quick as you can,
an’ tell the fellers what has happened. Have them get everything into
the boat, so’s we can get right away for home.”
Bobby started off at full speed, and Tim, now encouraged to think that
Tip might yet recover, began to look hopeful.
Bill set to work cutting down some small saplings, out of which he made
a very good litter. On this Tip was placed tenderly, and, with Bill
at one end and Tim at the other, they started down the path toward the
camp. To avoid jolting the dog, thus causing him more pain, they were
obliged to walk so slowly that when they reached the beach the boys
were putting into the boat the last of their camp equipage.
Each of the party wanted to examine poor Tip, but Bill would not permit
it, because of the delay it would cause. He arranged a comfortable
place in the bow where Tip could lie, and another where Tim could sit
beside him, working all the time as if each moment was of the greatest
importance in the saving of Tip’s life.
At last all was ready, the word was given to push off, and the campers
rowed swiftly toward home.