DISASTER
Old Dobbin pricked up his ears and kept royally to his task as he seemed
to enter into the excitement of the moment.
Andy had practiced on the animal on several previous occasions. Lumps of
sugar and apples had rewarded Dobbin at the end of the performances for
his faithful services. He seemed now to remember this, as he galloped
along towards the waiting group down the road.
Sometimes Andy had made the horseback somersault successfully. Sometimes
he had failed ignominiously and tumbled to the ground. Just now he felt
no doubt of the result. The padded cushion cover was broad and steady.
He kept the horse close to the inner edge of the road. The tree stump
upon which Alf Warren stood just lined it.
By holding the hoop extended straight out, the horse's body would pass
directly under this.
Nearer and nearer steed and rider approached the point of interest.
The spectators gaped and squirmed, vastly excited, but silent now.
About one hundred feet away from the tree stump, Andy shouted out the
quick word:
"Ready."
At once Alf Warren drew the match in his free hand across his coat
sleeve. It lighted. He applied the ignited splinter to the edge of
the hoop.
The oil-soaked covering took fire instantly. The blaze ran round the
circle. The hoop burst into a wreath of light, darting flames.
Andy fixed a calculating eye on hoop and holder.
"Two inches lower," he ordered--"keep it firm."
The horse seemed inclined to swerve at a sight of the fiery hoop. Andy
soothed Dobbin by word and kept him steady with the bridle reins.
Everything seemed working smoothly. Andy moved to the extreme rear edge
of the platform and poised there.
Five feet away from the hoop he dropped the riding whip. Then he flung
the reins across the horse's neck.
With nerve and precision Andy started a forward somersault at just the
right moment.
He felt a warm wave cross his face. As he made the complete circle he
knew that something was wrong.
"Ouch!" suddenly yelled out Alf.
A spurt of flame had shot against his hand that held the short stick
attached to the hoop.
Alf let go the hoop and dropped it. As Andy came down, righted again on
the platform, one foot struck the narrow edge of the hoop.
He was in his stocking feet, and the contact cut the instep sharply. It
threw Andy off his balance. He tried to right himself, but failed. He
tipped sideways, and was forced to jump to the ground.
The hoop fell forward against the horse's mane. With a wild neigh of
terror and pain the animal leaped to one side, carrying away a section
of rotten fence. The blazing hoop now dropped around its neck.
A shout of dismay went up from the spectators. Alf, nursing his burned
fingers, looked scared. Andy glanced sharply after the flying horse and
spurted after it. At that moment the school bell rang out, and the crowd
made a rush in the direction of the building. Alf Warren lagged behind.
"Go ahead," directed Andy, "I'll catch Dobbin."
Ned Wilfer at that moment dashed up to Andy's side.
"I'll stay and help you," he panted.
"Don't be tardy, don't get into trouble," said Andy.
Dobbin was making straight across a meadow. The kerosene soaked rags had
pretty well burned out. They smoked still, however, and in the breeze
once in a while a tongue of flame would dart forth.
Dobbin passed a haystack, then another. He was momentarily shut out from
Andy's view on both occasions.
At his second reappearance Andy noticed that the animal had got rid of
the hoop. Dobbin now slackened his pace, snorted, and, laying down,
rolled over and over in the stubble.
The horse righted himself as Andy came up with him, breathless.
"So, so, old fellow," soothed Andy. "Just singed the mane a little,
that's all."
He patted the animal's nose and seized the bridle to lead Dobbin back to
the pasture from which he had started.
"Oh, gracious!" exclaimed Andy, abruptly dropping the bridle quicker
than he had seized it.
Forty feet back on the course Dobbin had come, the second haystack was
all ablaze.
There the horse had thrown off the fire hoop, or it had burned through
at some part and had dropped there.
It had set the dry hay aflame. As Andy looked, it spread out into a
fan-like blaze, enveloping one whole side of the stack.
Andy was dumb with consternation. However, he was not the boy to face a
calamity inactively.
His quick eye saw that the stack was doomed. What troubled him more than
that was the imminent danger to half-a-dozen other stacks nearly
adjoining it.
"All Farmer Dale's hay!" gasped the perturbed lad. "Fifty tons, if
there's one. If all that goes, what shall I do?"
Andy took in the whole situation with a vivid glance. Then he made a
bee-line dash for a broken stack against which rested a large
field rake.
It was broad and had a very long handle. Andy ran with it towards the
blazing heap of hay and set to work instantly.
"This won't do," he breathed excitedly, as an effort to beat out the
spreading flames only caused burning shreds to fill the air. These
threatened to ignite the contiguous stacks.
Once the first of these was started they would all go one after the
other. They were out of the direct draught of the light breeze
prevailing. What cinders arose went straight up high in the air. The
main danger threatened from the stubble.
Creeping into this from the base of the haystack in flames, little
pathways of fire darted out like vicious serpents.
Andy made for these with the rake. He beat at them and scraped the
ground. He stamped with his stockinged feet and pulled up clumps of
stubble with his hands.
The trouble was that so many little fires started up at so many
different spots. Finally, however, the ground was a mass of burned-out
grass for twenty feet clear around the centre of the blaze.
The haystack was sinking down a glowing mass, but now confined itself
and past spreading out.
Andy flung himself on the ground fairly exhausted. His hands and face
were somewhat blistered, and he was wringing wet with perspiration.
He looked pretty serious as he did "a sum out of school."
"That stack held about two tons and a-half," he calculated. "I heard a
farmer at the post-office say yesterday that he was getting eight
dollars in the stack for hay. There's twenty dollars gone up in smoke.
Where will I ever get twenty dollars?"
Andy became more and more despondent the longer he thought of the dismal
situation.
He stirred himself to action. With the rake he heaped together the
brittle filaments of burned hay.
"It can't spread any now," he decided finally. "It's dying down to
nothing. Now then, what's next?"
Andy took a far look in all directions. The fire had burned so rapidly
and clear in the crisp light air that it did not seem to have been
observed in the village.
Andy wondered, however, that some of the Dales had not discovered it. He
stood gazing thoughtfully at the Dale homestead about a
quarter-of-a-mile away.
A great many impulsive, disheartening and also reckless projects ran
through his mind.
"It's an awful fix to be in," ruminated Andy with a sigh of real
distress. "If ever it was up to a fellow to cut stick and run, it's up
to Andy Wildwood at this minute. Expelled from school, burning up a
man's haystack and then--Aunt Lavinia! The rest is bad enough, but when
I think of her it sends the cold chills all over me. Ugh!"
Andy looked for Dobbin. It was some time before he discovered the
innocent partner of his recent disastrous escapade.
The old horse was half-a-mile distant, placidly making along the roadway
for home.
Andy rubbed his head in distress and uncertainty. He had a hard problem
to figure out. Suddenly his eyes snapped and he straightened up briskly.
"I won't crawl," he declared. "'Toe the mark' is Aunt Lavinia's great
motto. 'Face the music' is mine. I won't turn tail and play the sneak.
I've destroyed some property. Well, the first honest thing to do is to
try and make good. Here goes."
Andy started for the road. He reached the spot where he had left his
coat and shoes. Donning these he went to a little pool in the brush,
washed his face and hands, and made a short cut for Farmer Dale's house.
Andy's heart was beating pretty fast as he entered the farm yard, but he
marched straight up to the front door.
Andy knocked, first timidly, then louder.
There was no response.