SELF-SACRIFICE
It was a warm muggy night. A pale moon shone dimly through the mists,
and the buildings of the school cast long shadows across the campus,
giving a weird uncanny effect to the scene, of which the boys were
immediately conscious as they came out of the Doctor’s study.
They waited for a moment outside, straining their eyes for a sight
of Finch. Suddenly Jimmie discerned a dark figure just disappearing
over the brow of the hill. “There he goes,” he cried, “over the hills
towards the beach.”
“All right—after him!” urged Tony, and set the pace at a rapid trot.
Lawrence and Clavering kept close behind.
In a few moments they had reached the brow of the hill over which
Lawrence had seen the figure disappear. They paused for a moment
to look about them. Out of range of the lights of the school, the
mists were less confusing and the moonlight more effective. Tony was
searching the beach with his eyes. “I can’t make out a thing,” he said.
“Do you see anything of him, Ned?”
“Not a thing,” Clavering answered. “Are you sure, Jim, you saw him a
moment ago?”
“Dead sure. Look there! isn’t that him?”
“Where?”
“Down by the road—near the marshes.” He pointed eagerly.
“Yes, yes,” cried Tony. “Come on. He’s no good at running. We ought to
catch him before he reaches the Pond. If he gets to the Woods, there’s
no knowing where to find him.”
They started down the hill at a rapid pace.
“He would have to go round the Pond to get into the Woods,” said
Clavering as they ran. “The ice is rotten; he can’t cross the Pond. So
let’s go to the north and cut him off.”
“You do that, Ned,” suggested Tony. “Cut in at the farmhouse by the
head of the Pond; Jim and I will keep right on. He may never stop to
think that the ice has gone rotten.”
“All right. Look, he’s slowing up.” They could see with fair
distinctness.
Finch, for it was he, had reached the foot of the hill. He paused for
a moment, seeming to hesitate between the Old Beach Road and the path
across the marshes; and apparently chose the latter, for he crossed
the road, and climbed the stone wall. Ignorant that he was so closely
followed, he had not been running very fast, so that our friends were
rapidly gaining upon him. By the time they had reached the foot of
the hill, he was only halfway across the marshes; and was forced to
pick his way, for he was not very familiar with the ground, and was
handicapped by his frequent stumbling against a stone. In some places
the ground was hard and frozen, in others it was wet and muddy.
“Cut across now to the head of the Pond,” said Tony, as the three
clambered over the stone wall which divided the marshes from the road.
“We can catch him all right.”
Clavering diverged, as Deering suggested, and the other two kept on
directly in Finch’s track. It was difficult to run over the uneven
ground, and once Jimmie tripped and fell over a boulder, so that they
were delayed for a moment. The marshes were about two hundred yards
wide, and ended at the high bank which had been built up around Beaver
Pond, which was used as a reservoir. Beyond loomed the dark ridges of
Lovel’s Woods, ghostly in the pale misty moonlight.
As Finch emerged at last from the uneven, reed-choked ground of the
marshes, Tony and Jimmie were scarcely fifty yards behind him. Suddenly
he heard the sound of their pattering feet, and turned and stood still
like a startled deer to listen. Then, as he made out the dark forms so
little behind him, he ran rapidly up the steep bank of the Pond.
“Jake, Jake, wait for me!” Tony called. “It’s Deering—wait a second!”
Finch now on the top of the bank, stopped again. Our two friends out of
breath, paused at the bottom. Hardly a dozen yards divided them.
“Wait a second! What’s your hurry?” Tony repeated, starting forward
again, but at that very moment his foot caught in a loose stone and
he went sprawling, and Jimmie, too late to turn aside, fell on top of
him. Finch did not move, but waited a moment, while the two picked
themselves up. No damage was done, but they were windless.
“Who are you?” Finch called down.
“It’s me—Tony Deering.”
Again they started to climb the bank. Finch stooped quickly and picked
up a couple of enormous stones.
“Stop there!” he cried. “If you come up that bank, I’ll fire this at
your head. I mean it.”
The two pursuers stopped involuntarily.
“Throw that rock down. What’s the matter with you?” cried Tony sharply.
“It don’t make any difference. What are you following me for? What do
you want with me?”
“I want to know what on earth you are cutting out for like this. What’s
the matter? we’re not going to hurt you.”
“No, I know you’re not. Mind—don’t take a step, or I’ll fire this at
your head. I’ve chucked the whole thing. I’m clearing out, d’ye hear? I
won’t be stopped.”
“Look here, Jake; you’re crazy. Don’t act like——”
“Maybe I am, but that don’t alter the fact that you are not coming up
that bank without getting this in your head. I won’t be followed.”
“For goodness’ sake, Jake, listen to reason.” Tony began to advance
cautiously.
“Back!” cried Finch. “Get back, if you’ve anything to say.” And he
poised the rock threateningly.
Tony stopped a moment, willing to accomplish by persuasion what he
was determined to effect by force if need be. “All right,” he agreed.
“We’ll cry a truce for a minute. Don’t be an ass, now—tell me what’s
the trouble and where you are cutting out to.”
“Who sent you after me?” demanded Finch.
“Mr. Roylston came——”
“Pah!” Jake uttered an exclamation of profound disgust.
“Mr. Roylston,” Tony repeated, “burst into Doctor Forester’s study,
and said that you had been abusing him, and that you had lit out some
place, and then he came near falling into a faint. So we started after
you. This is no way to——”
“Well, I don’t care whether it’s a way or not,” interrupted Finch. “I’m
done with the school. I’m chucking it.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t do it in a fool way like this. Come
back and take your medicine like a man.”
“I’m tired of taking medicine,” Finch replied bitterly. “I’ve taken all
I ever mean to in that school, anyway.”
“Where are you going?”
“That’s my affair.”
“Well, come back, and you can go off decently to-morrow.”
“No—I’d back down to-morrow like the shivering scared fool I’ve always
been. To-night, I’m up to it. I’m going now—to-night.”
“Where?”
“Oh, I dunno—it don’t make any difference—away from here.”
“Look here, Jake; that’s a pretty mean way to treat me—to say nothing
of the school.”
“Well, I’m sorry if you feel that way. But I don’t owe the school
anything.”
“Yes, you do, a lot; the Doctor—Bill——”
“Back!” cried Finch sharply. “Don’t try to sneak up on me. Let me
alone. Maybe I’ll write and let you know where I am. But I am going to
cut out to-night.”
Tony glanced at Jimmie who was close by his side. “Let’s risk it, Jim,”
he whispered, “he can only hit one of us, I reckon.” “All right—heave
ahead!” Jimmie responded in a low tone.
Without wasting further words the two boys began to dash up the steep
bank.
“Get down there!” Finch yelled. “I’m going to throw.” He raised his
arm, but something paralyzed his vicious intention. It seemed to him
that he tried to throw and could not. The big stone fell crashing from
his hand, and rolled harmlessly down the bank. Finch turned, and with a
cry sprang toward the icy surface of the Pond. When the boys got to the
top of the bank, he was already a dozen feet out on the Pond.
“For God’s sake, Jake, don’t try to cross the Pond. The ice is rotten.”
Tony and Jimmie were now at the edge of the shore. “The ice is rotten.”
Deering repeated, “it can’t hold you.”
“I’m all right enough, I guess,” Finch called back. “I’m light enough.
So long!”
The two boys stood breathless, watching the retreating figure.
“What’ll we do,” exclaimed Jimmie, turning a ghastly face to his
friend. “It won’t hold him.”
“No, I know it won’t.... Jake! Jake!” Tony called.
There was no reply. “Quick!” exclaimed Deering, “get those planks
there—we’ll run ‘em along the ice, and have something to hold to if we
go in. We’ve got to follow. Quick, Jim!”
They dashed to a point a few yards up the shore where some heavy planks
had been placed by the skaters early in the season to serve as seats
in putting on and taking off their skates. It was the work of a second
to rip up two of them, and slide them out on the ice in the direction
Finch had gone.
By this time the runaway boy was about twenty yards from shore, he
had stopped for the moment and was watching them curiously. When he
saw them slide the planks out, he started again, heading for the
opposite bank from which the dark woods loomed up. They could see him
distinctly, trying to slide, his foot catching every second in the soft
ice.
Suddenly there was a cry. “There he goes!” cried Jimmie, as Finch
disappeared beneath the ice.
They pushed breathlessly, incautiously forward, sending the planks
on ahead of them. Finch rose in the middle of the great hole that
his plunge had made. They could hear him sputter and see him splash
helpless in the pool of dark water and broken bits of rotten ice.
He could swim, and had got to the edge of the circle of water, and
was clutching desperately at the firmer ice. But each time it gave
way, enlarging the hole, but bringing the boy very little nearer his
would-be rescuers.
“Stick to it, Jake!” Tony called. “We’ll get you out, if you can hold
out. Quick, Jim. Slide the plank out.”
On they went, fearful every instant that they would be in like
predicament. “There’s no use,” said Jimmie. “If we only had a rope!”
“Well, we haven’t, and he can’t hold out till we get one.”
At that very second Finch lost his hold again and for the second time
slipped beneath the icy waters of the Pond. He came up in a moment,
splashing again. “Help, help!” he called despairingly.
“All right—hold out—we’re coming.” They had got the plank well out
now toward the struggling boy. “Hold out, Jake—We’ll get it to you.”
Inch by inch they got it nearer. But Finch was becoming exhausted.
“He can’t do it!” cried Jimmie. “Oh, God help us! What shall we do?
What shall we do?”
“Look here,” said Tony. “I am going in after him if he goes down again.
Keep the plank out and I can get hold of it, and hang on, maybe, till
you get back with help. Yell for Ned to stay and help here, if he can.
Then run to the farmhouse and get a rope. And for God’s sake, go quick,
Jim.”
“Tony! don’t—you can’t!”
“I’ve got to. Hold on, Jake,” he cried again. The end of the plank was
at the edge of the hole. Finch clutched at it, but his strength was
gone. “I can’t,” he cried feebly, and sank again.
“Do as I told you, now,” said Tony. He ripped off his coat and shoes
and was sliding forward. As he neared the hole, suddenly the ice
crushed beneath his weight, and he sank into the bitter depths. In a
second he was at the surface, and striking out boldly to the spot
where Finch had gone down. He dived once, got hold of Finch’s body,
clasped it, and with terrible effort got to the surface again. Jimmie
had pushed the plank almost within his reach. He clasped it tightly,
and managed by its aid to keep his own and Finch’s head above water.
Finch seemed lifeless. “A rope, a rope,” called Tony.
Lawrence was already crawling back to the shore, where Clavering, who
had heard the commotion, had run down to meet him.
“Finch fell in—Tony’s gone in after him, and he’s got him, and’s
clinging to a plank. Do what you can. I’m off for a rope at the Red
Farmhouse.”
Clavering took in the situation at a glance. And as Lawrence began to
start across the marsh, he began to haul a heavier plank out on the
ice, calling out encouragement to Tony as he did so.
Jimmie ran like the wind, and at last reached the farmhouse on the edge
of the marshes. “A rope, a rope,” he cried, to the astonished farmer
into whose kitchen he had burst. “There’s two boys drowning in the
Pond.”
In ten minutes Jimmie, the farmer and his son, were back at the edge of
the Pond, with a stout rope which had a noose at the end. “Hurry up!”
called Clavering, “he’s holding out.”
[Illustration: WITH TERRIBLE EFFORT HE GOT TO THE SURFACE AGAIN]
In a moment they were out on the ice and had thrown the noosed rope to
Tony, clinging for dear life to the plank. He managed to get it about
his shoulders, then the four, the two boys on the ice, and the farmer
and his son on the shore, began to pull. It was a struggle, but at last
their efforts proved successful and Tony, half-dead with the cold and
almost paralyzed from the burden of Finch’s lifeless body, was hauled
out on firm ice, and then carried to the shore. There the farmer’s wife
had arrived with blankets and whisky. They swathed the two half-drowned
boys in the blankets; the farmer and his son picked up Finch, whom they
thought was dead; Lawrence and Clavering did the same for Deering, and
in a few moments they were at the Red Farm. Mrs. Simpson, the farmer’s
wife, had already telephoned for a doctor and to the School.
Soon Doctor Carter, the school physician, and Doctor Forester himself,
arrived on the scene. They gave directions for Tony to be well wrapped
in blankets and to be taken at once to the school infirmary, and then
set to work in the effort to restore Finch to consciousness.
Jimmie drove up to the Infirmary in the farmer’s wagon with Tony, and
helped the nurses get him to bed. Then for two hours he waited for
the news from the farmhouse. It was after eleven when at last a ring
came on the telephone. Jimmie sprang to the receiver. It was Doctor
Forester, wanting the head nurse. “Finch is just living,” he said. “We
will bring him up later. Tell the nurse I wish to speak to her.”