JERRY SHEMING AGAIN
Ruth, with all the fun and study of the opening of the fall term at
Briarwood, could not entirely forget Jerry Sheming. More particularly did
she think of him because of the invitation Belle Tingley had extended to
her the day of their arrival.
It was a coincidence that none of the other girls appreciated, for none of
them had talked much with the young fellow who had saved Ann Hicks from
the wrecked car at Applegate Crossing. Even Ann herself had not become as
friendly with the boy as had Ruth.
The fact that he had lived a good share of his life on the very island
Belle said her father had bought for a hunting camp, served to spur Ruth's
interest in both the youth and the island itself. Then, what Jerry had
told her about his uncle's lost treasure box added to the zest of the
affair.
Somewhere on the island Peter Tilton had lost a box containing money and
private papers. Jerry believed it to have been buried by a landslide that
had occurred months before.
There must be something in this story, or why should "Uncle Pete," as
Jerry called him, have lost his mind over the catastrophe? Uncle Pete must
be really mad or they would not have shut him up in the county asylum.
The loss of the papers supposed to be in the box made it possible for some
man named Blent to cheat the old hunter out of his holdings on Cliff
Island.
Not for a moment did Ruth suppose that Mr. Tingley, Belle's father, was a
party to any scheme for cheating the old hunter. It was the work of the
man Blent--if true.
Ruth was very curious--and very much interested. Few letters ever passed
between her and the Red Mill. Aunt Alvirah's gnarled and twisted fingers
did not take kindly to the pen; and Uncle Jabez loved better to add up his
earnings than to spend an evening retailing the gossip of the Mill for his
grandniece to peruse.
Ruth knew that Jerry had soon recovered from his accident and that for
several weeks, at least, had worked for Uncle Jabez. The latter grudgingly
admitted that Jerry was the best man he had ever hired in the cornfield,
both in cutting fodder and shucking corn.
Just before Thanksgiving there came a letter saying that Jerry had gone
on. Of course, Ruth knew that her uncle would not keep the young fellow
longer than he could make use of him; but she was sorry he had gone before
she had communicated with him.
The girl of the Red Mill felt that she wished to know Jerry better. She
had been deeply interested in his story. She had hoped to learn more about
him.
"If you are really going to Cliff Island for the holidays, Belle," she
told the latter, "I hope I can go."
"Bully!" exclaimed Belle, joyfully. "We'll have a dandy time there--better
than we had at Helen's father's camp, last winter. I refuse to be lost in
the snow again."
"Same here," drawled Heavy. "But I wish that lake you talk about, Belle,
wouldn't freeze over. I don't like ice," with a shiver.
"Who ever heard of water that wouldn't freeze?" demanded Belle,
scornfully.
"I have," said Heavy, promptly.
"What kind of water, I'd like to know, Miss?"
"Hot water," responded Heavy, chuckling.
Helen, and most of the other girls who were invited to Cliff Island for
Christmas, had already accepted the invitation. Ruth wrote to her uncle
with some little doubt. She did not know how he would take the suggestion.
She had been at the mill so little since first she began attending
boarding school.
This Thanksgiving she did not expect to go home. Few of the girls did so,
for the recess was only over the week-end and lessons began again on
Monday. Only those girls who lived very near to Briarwood made a real
vacation of the first winter holiday. A good many used the time to make up
lessons and work off "conditions."
Thanksgiving Day itself was made somewhat special by a trip to Buchane
Falls, where there was a large dam. Dinner was to be served at five in the
evening, and more than half the school went off to the falls (which was
ten miles away) in several big party wagons, before ten o'clock in the
morning.
"Bring your appetites back with you, girls," Mrs. Tellingham told them at
chapel, and Heavy, at least, had promised to do so and meant to keep her
word. Yet even Heavy did justice to the cold luncheon that was served to
all of them at the falls.
It was crisp autumn weather. Early in the morning there had been a skim of
ice along the edge of the water; but there had not yet been frost enough
to chain the current of the Buchane Creek. Indeed, it would not freeze
over in the middle until mid-winter, if then.
The picnic ground was above the falls and on the verge of the big
millpond. There were swings, and a bowling alley, and boats, and other
amusements.
Ruth had fairly dragged Ann Hicks into the party. The girls who had been
meanest to the westerner were present. Ann would have had a woefully bad
time of it had not some of the smaller girls needed somebody to look out
for them.
Ann hated the little girls at Briarwood less than she did the big ones. In
fact, the "primes," as they were called, rather took to the big girl from
the West.
One of the swings was not secure, and Ann started to fix it. She could
climb like any boy, and there did not happen to be a teacher near to
forbid her. Therefore, up she went, unfastened the rope from the beam, and
proceeded to splice the place where it had become frayed.
It was not a new rope, but was strong save in that one spot. Ann coiled
it, and although it did not have the "feel" of the fine hemp, or the good
hair rope that is part of the cowman's equipment, her hands and arm
tingled to lassoo some active, running object.
She coiled it once more and then flung the rope at a bush. The little
girls shouted their appreciation. Ann did not mind, for there seemed to be
no juniors or seniors there to see. Most of the older girls were down by
the water.
Indeed, some of the seniors were trying to interest the bigger girls in
rowing. Briarwood owned a small lake, and they might have canoes and
racing shells upon it, if the girls as a whole would become interested.
But many of the big girls did not even know how to row. There was one big
punt into which almost a dozen of them crowded. Heavy sat in the stern and
declared that she had to have a big crowd in the bow of the boat, to
balance it and keep her end from going down.
Therefore one girl after another jumped in, and when it was really too
full for safety it was pushed out from the landing. Just about the time
the current which set toward the middle of the pond seized the punt, it
was discovered that nobody had thought of oars.
"How under the sun did you suppose a thing like this was going to be
propelled?" Heavy demanded. "I never did see such a fellow as you are,
Mandy Mitchell!"
"You needn't scold me," declared the Mitchell girl. "You invited me into
the boat."
"Did I? Why! I must have been crazy, then!" declared Heavy. "And didn't
any of you think how we were going to get back to shore?"
"Nor we don't know now," cried another girl.
"Oh-o!" gasped one of the others, darting a frightened look ahead. "We're
aiming right for the dam."
"You wouldn't expect the boat to drift against the current, would you?"
snapped Heavy.
"Let's scream!" cried another--and they could all do that to perfection.
In a very few minutes it was apparent to everybody within the circle of
half a mile or more that a bunch of girls was in trouble--or thought so!
"Sit down!" gasped Heavy. "Don't rock the boat. If that yelling doesn't
bring anybody, we're due to reach a watery grave, sure enough."
"Oh, don't, Heavy!" wailed one of the weaker ones. "How can you?"
Heavy was privately as frightened as any of them, but she tried to keep
the others cheerful, and would have kept on joking till the end. But
several small boats came racing down the pond after them, and along the
bank came a man--or a boy--running and shouting. How either the girls in
the boats or the youth on the shore could help them, was a mystery; but
both comforted the imperiled party immensely.
The current swung the heavy punt in toward the shore. Right at that end of
the dam the water was running a foot deep--or more--over the flash-board.
If the punt struck, it would turn broadside, and probably tip all hands
over the dam. This was a serious predicament, indeed, and the spectators
realized it even more keenly than did the girls in the punt.
The youth who had been called to the spot by their screams threw off his
coat and cap, and they saw him stoop to unlace his shoes. A plunge into
this cold water was not attractive, and it was doubtful if he could help
them much if he reached the punt.
Down the hill from the picnic grounds came a group of girls, Ann Hicks in
the lead. Most of her companions were too small to do any good in any
event. The girl from the ranch carried a neat coil of rope in one hand and
she shouted to Heavy to "Hold on!"
"You tell me what to hold on to, and you'll see me do it!" replied the
plump girl. "All I can take hold of just now is thin air."
"Hold on!" said Ann again, and stopped, having reached the right spot.
Then she swung the rope in the air, let it uncoil suddenly, and the loose
end dropped fairly across Jennie Stone's lap.
"Hold on!" yelled everybody, then, and Heavy obeyed.
But the young fellow sprang to Ann's aid, and wrapped the slack of the
rope around a stout sapling on the edge of the pond.
"Easy! Easy!" he admonished. "We don't want to pull them out of the boat.
You _can_ fling a rope; can't you, Miss?"
"I'd ought to," grunted Ann. "I've roped enough steers--Why! you're Jerry
Sheming," she declared, suddenly looking into his face. "Ruth Fielding
wants to see you. Don't you run away before she talks with you."
Then the rope became taut, and the punt began to swing shoreward slowly,
taking in some water and setting the girls to screaming again.