OFF TO THE GYPSY CAMP
“Let—let me get her!” gasped Blake, as he whirled about in the water,
seeking the tell-tale train of bubbles that might indicate the presence
of the girl.
“No!” cried Jack. “You get in the boat. Your wet clothes are too heavy.
I’ll dive for her. I saw where she went down!”
There was wisdom in this, as Blake well knew, and, though he would have
dared anything to make the rescue, he realized that Jack’s plan was
best. The latter had already thrown off his coat, and kicked loose his
rubber-soled low shoes. Clad in a pair of light-weight trousers, and a
sleeveless shirt, he poised for a moment on the bow of the boat, and
then dived.
He cut the water cleanly, and Blake, swimming to Phil’s boat, managed to
get in over the stem, Phil with an agonized look on his face holding it
steady. Mrs. Bonnell, who with Mabel and Alice was in Jack’s boat,
looked to see the result of his dive.
“It wasn’t your fault, Phil,” said the Guardian gently. “It wasn’t a
very hard bump. The canoe is a very tippy one.”
“That’s right!” gasped Blake.
It seemed an age ere Jack came shooting up out of the water. With a
shake of his head he cleared his eyes and mouth, and cried:
“I saw her—on the—bottom!” he gasped. “But—she was too far over. I’ll
dive again. I can get her—stay here!” he called to Phil, and Blake, who
seemed about to leap overboard.
Filling his lungs with air, Jack again dived. They could watch him by
the commotion in the water, and when he presently appeared, bearing the
unconscious form of Natalie to the surface, Phil gave a spasmodic yell,
the others joining in.
“Get her into your boat, Phil—it’s larger,” commanded Mrs. Bonnell.
“Then row to shore as fast as you can. We’ll have to practice first aid
work, just as we did in class, girls,” she added, for the Camp Fire
rules called for a girl knowing how to resuscitate an apparently drowned
person.
It did not take long to get Natalie into the boat, and then with
feverishly rapid strokes Phil rowed to shore, the others following.
“Make a little pillow of your coats, boys,” commanded Mrs. Bonnell.
“We’ll place that under her, as she lies face down. That will help to
drain the water out of her lungs.”
The inert form of Natalie was rolled over, until some water did come
from her lips. Then, directing the efforts of Jack and Phil, Mrs.
Bonnell had them raise the girl’s arms above her head, while she pressed
on the diaphragm to facilitate the getting of air into the lungs.
Natalie had only been a short time in the water, and, as it developed
later, her head had struck on the gunwale of the canoe, rendering her
unconscious, so that she had swallowed only a little water. The blow, in
a measure, was lucky for her, since it made her rescue easier. She had
not struggled in Jack’s grip.
“There!” exclaimed Mrs. Bonnell, as a tremor of the white eyelids, and a
gentle sigh, told that consciousness was returning. “She’s coming to!”
“Ah!” breathed Phil in relief. He had been under a great strain.
Natalie opened her eyes.
“What happened? Did I— Oh, I remember,” she gasped. “I fell out of the
boat. How silly!”
“Not at all!” exclaimed Marie. “How do you feel?”
“Rather—rather weak,” was the answer.
“She ought to have a warm drink,” exclaimed Mabel. “Oh, if we could only
make a fire, and heat some coffee!”
“We can make a fire,” said Phil, “but the coffee is out of the question.
We’d better get back to camp. It was all my fault. I should have looked
where I rowed.”
“No, I got in the way,” declared Blake. “I should have told Nat to sit
down on the bottom of the canoe, instead of on the seat, but she wanted
to improve her paddle stroke.”
Natalie shivered as she sat up. A little color was beginning to show in
her cheeks.
“I have it!” cried Jack. “We’re not far from the old mill. I’ll run over
there, and get Old Hanson to make some coffee!”
“I’ll go!” volunteered Phil, anxious to be of service.
“No, let me,” insisted Jack. “I want to get dry and the run will do the
trick,” and he was off on a path that led to the mysterious mill.
He was lucky in finding Old Hanson in his shack. The solitary man was
just starting a fire for supper. The kettle was boiling and, quickly
explaining the need, Jack helped make coffee. Then, with a pailful of
the steaming beverage, while Hanson came after him with a blanket, the
lad hurried back to where the others were.
The coffee was just what Natalie needed and it sent the warm blood into
her now rather more pale than olive cheeks. She insisted on Jack and
Blake taking some of the beverage, which they consented to do. For,
though, the day was warm, their damp, clinging clothes were none too
comfortable.
“Here, wrap her in this blanket,” urged Old Hanson as he came up. “It’s
clean,” he added quickly, “I only use it as a spread for the couch. It
will keep her from getting a cold.”
Natalie gladly wound it about her, and then, looking more than ever like
an Indian maiden she was helped down to the smaller boat. Jack offered
to row her to camp, and no one disputed him the honor. Mrs. Bonnell went
with them to assist Natalie on reaching the tent. The others came on
more leisurely, the overturned canoe having been righted.
Jack never rowed so fast in his life and he was in a warm, rosy glow
when Crystal Springs was reached. Natalie, too, was much improved, and
soon, clad in warm, dry garments she was herself again. The others came
on, and then the whole affair was gone over in detail, each one telling
his or her feelings during the crucial moments.
Phil was contrition itself, but no one blamed him, though they all
agreed that they must all use more care in the future. The next day saw
no ill effects of the accident, though Natalie remained rather quietly
about camp, stretched in a barrel stave hammock the boys had made in
honor of her “convalescence,” as they called it.
“Where are you boys going?” asked Marie, a few days later, as the three
chums stopped in their repaired motor craft at the small dock of Dogwood
Camp.
“We’re going to see if we can find that Gypsy outfit,” explained Jack.
“We’re going to ask Old Hanson if he knows anything about it, and,
incidentally, we’ll take him back his blanket. He may need it. Want to
come, girls?”
“I think not,” said Mrs. Bonnell for them. “We have some work to do
about camp, and, really, if you do locate those Gypsies I think you boys
had better deal with them.”
“We’ll deal all right!” exclaimed Phil grimly. “Maybe we had better size
up their place, though, before we take the girls over. Come on,
fellows,” and after a brief stay at the camp of their friends they went
across the lake in the motor boat, which seemed to be running well.
There were many little details to be looked after about the tents, and,
as the Camp Fire Girls were working for their “degrees,” as they called
them, they divided up the tasks.
“For we will want to become Fire Makers, after our probation as Wood
Gatherers is up,” said Natalie. “Some of you can qualify under some of
the rules about knowing what to do when a person is nearly drowned,” she
added, looking fondly at her friends. “Though I can’t understand what
happened to me. I know how to swim.”
“It was that blow on the head,” declared the Guardian, “And yet maybe it
was a good thing for you, for with your water-soaked clothing you might
have tried to swim and have failed. I shall take into consideration what
you girls did in the emergency, though,” she went on, “and it will count
when you come up for the next step in the Camp Fire ritual. But you must
not forget the twenty elective honors.
“You can choose from health, home, nature, camp or hand craft, business
or patriotism,” she went on. “I suggest camp-craft nature-lore or
hand-craft while you are here in the woods. You will have time enough
for the others when we go back to Middleford.
“Oh, I don’t ever want to go back—not in such lovely weather as this,”
exclaimed Alice. “It is perfect here.”
“And so restful,” added Mabel, who was darning some stockings, with a
green apple to bring the holes up into rounded relief.
“I know what I’m going to do!” exclaimed Natalie, as she went in the
main tent, to come out presently with a big apron over her brown suit.
“Wash the dishes?” asked Mabel, for they had only eaten a light lunch
that day, and the utensils had been left until after the night meal.
“No, I’m going to see if that red clay can be modeled into anything like
a vase,” said Natalie, for near the drinking spring they had found a bed
of sticky clay a day or so before, and Natalie had brought a sample to
camp. Soon she was busily engaged in mixing it with water, and then the
others watched her curiously as she moulded it into a rudely-formed but
not inartistic vase of the Navajo style.
“Fine!” cried Mrs. Bonnell, when it was finished. “Now if you can bake
it in the fire, you’ll have something really pretty.”
“I’m going to try,” said Natalie. “But I think I’ll make a pit first,
build a fire in that, and then, when the embers are hot, I’ll cover the
vase with them. It will have to dry a bit in the sun first, anyhow,” and
she set her creation down in a warm spot while she looked for something
with which to dig the fire hole.
“There was a shovel around somewhere,” suggested Mabel. “I saw Marie
have it last.”
“I used it to dig some ferns with,” the latter admitted, “but I put it
back under the tent platform.”
“It isn’t there,” said Natalie, after a search. “But I can use the
hatchet,” and with that she began to dig. When she had her pit-fire
made, however, she found that her vase was still to soft to bake, so she
decided to let it stand until the next day.
“Let’s all make something,” suggested Marie, and soon the four were well
daubed with the red clay, that lent itself so readily to moulding.
The boys came back just before supper, tired and hungry and they quickly
accepted an invitation of the Camp Fire Girls to take “pot-luck” with
them.
“Did you find the Gypsy camp?” asked Mabel eagerly.
“Not a trace of it,” replied Blake. “Old Hanson thought he knew where it
was, but we tramped miles and miles, and never saw the smoke of their
fires.”
“We’ll ask that constable the first time we see him,” added Jack. “He’ll
probably know.”
“If he doesn’t we’ll find it ourselves,” declared Alice. “I’m not
afraid—if we all go together—I mean we girls!” she quickly added.
The doings of the day were talked over, and plans made for both parties
to go next day to the nearest store for some needed camp supplies. Then
followed a delightful hour around the fire for which the faithful Wood
Gatherers had provided plenty of fuel. There was the singing of some
simple choruses, which they all knew, or in lieu, hummed. Stories were
told and then came the farewells.
In the middle of the night Mrs. Bonnell was awakened by a queer,
thumping sound that seemed to come from the space between the cooking
and sleeping tents—where a canvas shaded a wooden platform, on which the
table was placed.
“I wonder if that can be my ammonia-fox?” she murmured as she reached
for her trusty little weapon.
“I think I’ll take a look before I fire,” she thought. None of the girls
was awakened.
Cautiously peering out through the tent flaps, the Guardian saw a
curious sight. She could not restrain a laugh, at the sound of which
Natalie suddenly sat up on her cot.
“What is it?” she demanded in a whisper.
“Come and see!” answered Mrs. Bonnell. “It’s too odd—the poor creature!”
Natalie glided to her side, while the queer thumping sound continued.