GRIPPED BY A GIANT'S UNSEEN HANDS
That Max, Bandy-legs and Toby all kept their wits about them was
manifest. Their actions had made this clear enough, for each of the trio
before starting "on the jump," as Bandy-legs described it, had made sure
to pick up something that, according to his mind, was apt to be needed.
Max, for instance, had snatched a rope that hung from a broken branch of
the tree, and which one of the boys had fetched along simply because "a
rope often comes in mighty handy for lots of things besides a hanging
bee." On his part Toby had stooped down and possessed himself of the
camp hatchet; if it proved that Steve was being attacked by a bobcat he
fancied he could make pretty good use of such a tool in an emergency.
Bandy-legs, true to his hunter instinct, made out to secure the only gun
which had been brought with them on the trip.
As they ran wildly in the direction from whence those appeals for
assistance still came, louder than ever, every fellow was straining his
vision to be the first to discover what it could be that was causing
Steve to let out such alarming whoops.
They did not have very far to go before suddenly all of them discovered
the object of their solicitude. He seemed to be standing nearly
waist-deep in the stream, and still holding on to his tough little steel
rod.
"Oh! shucks!" gasped Bandy-legs, almost out of breath from his violent
exertions, "he's only struck a mud turtle, or something like that, and
wants us to come and see. It's a burning shame to give us all such a
scare over a measly turtle."
"B-b-bet you it's a w-w-woppin' b-b-big fish!" ejaculated Toby.
"Keep on running!" snapped Max. "He needs help, and in a hurry, too!"
This sort of talk amazed both the others. So far as they could see Steve
stood there quite alone. They looked again but could see no savage
animal attacking their comrade; nor was there any vast disturbance in
the water, as though some marine monster might be trying to drag him
down; besides, such things as alligators or sharks were utterly unknown
up here in the Adirondacks.
"But, Max, he's all right, as far as I can see," expostulated
Bandy-legs, in reality unwilling to keep up that violent exertion just
to please some silly whim on the part of the fisherman, who, like as
not, would give them the laugh after they came up puffing and blowing
like porpoises.
"Look again," snapped Max. "Don't you see how deep he's in? Pretty
nearly up to his waist, isn't he?"
"That's all right," said Bandy-legs, "but if the silly has gone and
waded deeper than he meant to, why don't he just turn around and walk
out again?"
"Because he can't!" Max told him, still running.
"Hey! w-w-what's hindering him!" stammered Toby, thrilled by this new
mystery that had so suddenly dawned upon them.
"The sand's got too tight a grip on him," cried Max, "and he's sinking
deeper all the time!"
"Oh! thunder, it's quicksand, then!" exploded Bandy-legs.
Having now the key to the enigma explaining Steve's strange action, as
well as his queer antics while floundering about out there in the little
stream, both boys could easily see that May evidently spoke the truth.
So those envious Spanish courtiers found it easy to balance an egg on
end, after Columbus showed them how to do the trick.
In another half minute they arrived on the shore of the little stream.
Steve out there, with the shallow water coming now up almost to his
waist, greeted their arrival with a sickly grin.
"Sorry to bother you, boys," he said, "but seems like I've gone and got
into a nasty pickle. Please yank me out of this, won't you?"
Impetuous Bandy-legs was about to instantly start forward when Max
gripped him by the arm.
"Don't be foolish, Bandy-legs," he told the other, severely. "You'd only
get yourself in the same boat, if you stood there and tried to drag
Steve out; and two would be harder to take care of than one."
"But say, don't be _too_ slow about starting something, will you?"
urged Steve, once again looking nervous. "Why, I'm sinking right along,
I tell you. Every time I try to get one foot up t' other goes down three
inches further, because I have to bear all my weight on it. This is no
laughing matter, boys. I'll be swallowed up before your eyes soon if you
don't get busy. Max, you ought to know how to extricate a fellow from
the quicksand!"
"There are lots of ways in which it can be done," the other told him,
meanwhile measuring distances with his eye, as though he already had a
plan in mind. "If when you first discovered that you were sinking you
had thrown yourself sideways, and started to crawl or roll, regardless
of how wet you got, you might have made it, for in that way you'd have
presented more of your body to the action of the sand. Then a mattress
could be made from branches, weeds or any old thing, that would bear the
weight of one or two of us. But I've got even a better scheme than that
to work."
"Please hurry!" pleaded the imprisoned boy.
"Keep cool, Steve," advised Max, "because there's positively no danger,
now that we're on deck."
"But tell me what you mean to do, Max?" continued Steve.
"Make use of this rope, which you see I just happened to fetch along,"
explained the other, holding up the article in question. "It's going to
save time, too, because one of us would have had to run back to camp,
and that must mean delay. You're deep enough in as it is, I guess."
"A whole lot deeper than is pleasant, I tell you," Steve instantly
added. "Why, at the rate it's sucking me down I guess in less'n a
quarter of an hour the water would be up to my chin. And then, oh!
fellows, just imagine how I'd feel when it began to cover my mouth.
You're not going away, I hope, Max?"
This last almost frantic cry was caused by a movement on the part of the
one on whom poor Steve's hopes most depended.
"I'm going to shin up this big tree that sends a limb out right over
your head, don't you see, Steve?" Max told him, reassuringly. "Once I
get above you and we'll make good use of this rope of mine. The limb
will act as a lever, and when the boys get to pulling at the other end
of the rope you've just _got_ to come out, that's all there is about
it."
"Hurrah! that's the ticket!" shouted Bandy-legs, seeing the game now for
the first time. "Steve, you're as good as landed. Bless that old rope,
it's already proved worth its weight in gold." Steve watched operations
anxiously. Despite the positive assurance conveyed in these words from
his chums, the terrible grip of that clinging sand made him cold with
apprehension. He imagined all sorts of things, from the rope breaking
under the sudden and terrible strain, to his arms being drawn from their
sockets in the battle between the tenacious sand and the muscular
ability of the two boys ashore.
When Max managed to reach a point directly above the one in peril,
straddling the friendly limb as only a nimble boy could do, he quickly
fashioned a slip-noose at one end of the rope. This he lowered until
Steve could snatch it, which he did with all the eagerness shown by the
drowning man who clutches at a straw.
"Fix the noose under your arms, Steve," directed the master of
ceremonies, calmly enough, though possibly Max was more excited than he
chose to let the other see, "and get the knot around so it will be
exactly in front. Then, when I give the word for the boys to commence
heaving, you work both legs as hard as ever you can. It's going to help,
more or less, you know. I can't do much up here, in the way of pulling,
for I'd lose my balance; but make up your mind we're meaning to yank you
out of that in a jiffy, Steve."
"Oh! I hope so, Max, I surely hope so!"
Everything was soon ready. Steve had complied with the directions, and
now awaited the issue with all the fortitude he could command.
Afterwards perhaps Steve might sometime or other even laugh, as he
remembered how scared he was; but just then, with the difficulty still
unadjusted, it was not at all humorous.
"Ready, everybody?" called out Max.
Receiving an affirmative reply from three pairs of lips, he went on to
say:
"Then get busy, pulling! Make it a steady haul, and no jerks, or you'll
hurt Steve more than is necessary. Steady there, Bandy-legs, no hurry,
remember--just a regular increasing pull! Good enough, boys!"
Steve had obeyed instructions, and by the way he worked both feet as
soon as he felt the strain one might think he was practicing swimming
lessons. It must have given him more or less physical pain to feel the
terrible drag of the rope under his arms, but he shut his teeth hard
together, and kept back a groan.
"Now rest a bit, Toby and Bandy-legs!" called out Max. "How about it,
Steve--you moved some, didn't you?"
"Yes yes, quite a little, Max!" cried the other. "Please get busy again
right away. I'm sick of staying in this old quicksand!"
He still clung tenaciously to his steel fishing rod, as though he meant
that it should share his fate. Once more the team ashore started in. Now
their task seemed lighter, as though, having succeeded in dragging their
chum up several inches, with his whole weight now suspended by the rope,
the job was going to be finished in short order.
Soon Steve, crowing joyously, was drawn completely out of the water. He
gave this a last suggestive kick and then dangled there in midair,
spinning around like a teetotum.
"Hand me your rod, Steve," commanded Max. "Then use your arms and pull
yourself up on the limb. After that you can easily hunch along like I
do, and get to the main trunk. It's all over but the shouting, Steve;
and you can consider yourself pretty lucky to get off as easily as you
do, with a pair of wet trousers."
"I'm thankful enough, Max, you can make sure of that," said the other,
carrying out the suggestion, and thus freeing both hands for the task of
mounting to the friendly limb.
Before long he had reached the ground, where his three chums each
gravely shook hands with him. Steve was already getting back his nerve,
that had been under a severe strain.
"But anyway I did have bully good luck pulling out fat trout, boys," he
told them. "You can pick up a dozen along this side of the stream. Fact
is, it was such splendid fun that I just stood too long in one place,
catching them and tossing the beauties ashore; and so when I tried to
move, why, I couldn't to save my life. It felt like a giant had gripped
both feet, and was holding me down. The more I tried the worse it got.
Whee! I would have been pretty badly scared if no one was near by, I own
up to that."
Perhaps the others mentally considered that as it was, Steve had looked
a "good deal concerned" at the time of their arrival; but not wishing to
harrow his feelings any further just then they kept this to themselves;
though Bandy-legs did give Toby a suggestive wink, to which the other
replied in like kind.
It was found upon gathering the trophies of Steve's skill as an angler
that they had quite enough for a meal; consequently Steve announced that
he guessed he needn't start in again with rod and hook and grub.
All of them were soon busily engaged in fixing up the camp. Since they
had thought it best not to try and fetch a heavy tent along with them
they knew it would be necessary to construct some such brush shanty
shelter every night unless they could find a convenient ledge under
which a camp could be made. But all of these boys had often slept under
the stars, with the heavens for a canopy overhead, so that they did not
feel at all worried over the circumstance.
As the sun sank lower and lower toward the horizon the camp began to
assume a comfortable air. The brush shelter had been finished, and
pronounced equal to any they had ever built before. It might not prove
wholly rain-proof, but as for keeping off the dew, and protecting them
against the chilly night air, it offered them "all the comforts of
home," as Steve put it.
Then supper was started, a fire having been built after the most
approved method in vogue among guides and hunters of long experience.
Indeed, Max and his companions were far from being green to the ways of
the woods. They had learned heaps through their many camping
experiences; and some time before a visit to an old trapper had
initiated them into dozens of secrets of the craft that would never be
forgotten.[1]
Again the talk was of the strange mission that had brought them up to
the Adirondacks. Bandy-legs could not seem to get over his belief that
they were bound to have all their trouble for their pains.
"What sort of a clue have we got to work on for a starter, fellows, tell
me?" he went on to say, just as they were starting in to enjoy the
supper that had been supervised by a trio of eager cooks, all as hungry
as boys could well be, and continue to exist. "All we know is that when
this boy, Roland Chase, left Sagamere, almost two years back, he was a
sickly, white-faced chap, and with only one decent trait about him,
which was his love for outdoors; though up to then it had been mostly a
_yearning_, because they wouldn't let him get away from the house much
on account of his delicate constitution. Well, we're looking for some
such chap; but up to now we haven't got on his track."
[1] "With Trapper Jim in the North Woods."
"But hold on, Bandy-legs," expostulated Steve, "you forget that we did
hear about a boy that answered that description, though nobody seemed to
know his name. He was sometimes seen in the company of a half-drunken
old guide named Shanks somewhere around Mount Tom district. And now
we've come up this way in the hope of crossing his trail. Not that I've
got much expectation myself that we'll be sure to find this same;
Roland, who turns out to be a sort of will-o'-the-wisp to us; but since
his old aunt was so kind as to finance this expedition, why we're bound
to do all we can to make it a blooming success, that's what."
"Well," commented Max, who seemed to be the most confident one of the
quartette, "remember, if we fail to make connections it'll be the first
time on record that we've really been stumped. I don't believe in
hard-luck stories. As a rule success comes only to those who deserve it.
And we've still got most of that two weeks' vacation ahead of us, to
hunt around for Roland Chase."
Somehow Max always seemed to say things calculated to make his chums
feel more satisfied. It is a mighty good thing to have a real optimist
in camp, especially when the weather gets bad, and everything else seems
to go wrong. Even Bandy-legs took on a more cheerful air, and brightened
up after hearing Max say this. They had more or less reason to feel
proud of the record they had made in the past, so far as accomplishing
things went. And the people around Carson would be apt to tell any one
inquiring about Max and his cronies that they had actually done several
exceedingly smart things, and were boys far above the average.
The supper was voted a huge success, and never had fish been fried a
more delicious brown than those in the pan. Perhaps Steve entertained a
private opinion of his own, to the effect that never had a higher price
been paid for a mess of fish than he offered up when he found himself
made a prisoner of the unseen giant residing under the quicksands; but
all the same, Steve devoured his share of the fish as smartly as the
next one. He doubtless felt that he deserved having a feast, after his
adventure in supplying the materials.
They were almost through eating, and feeling particularly well
satisfied, as is usually the case, when the appetite has been taken care
of, when Toby Jucklin was seen to be staring straight ahead.
"What ails you, Toby?" demanded Steve, discovering the mysterious
actions of the other. "Think you see a ghost; or was it a 'coon whisked
past, smelling our fine spread here? Speak up, can't you, and tell us?"
Toby managed to find his tongue, and as usual when excited made quite a
mess of his explanation.
"W-w-why, y-y-you s-s-see, I--t-that is, there's s-s-somebody--oh! look
for yourselves and you'll understand quicker'n I c'n tell you!"
Sometimes Toby seemed to become so provoked with his ungovernable vocal
organs that he would get angry, and wind up by speaking as plainly as
the next one.
But before then Max, and perhaps the other pair in the bargain, had
discovered a figure advancing slowly toward them. Eagerly Bandy-legs
stared. Perhaps he began to already entertain a wild hope that the
newcomer would prove to be the very boy whom they had come so far to
find; but if this were so he must have almost immediately discovered his
mistake, for the other was a sun-burned and wind-tanned lad, sturdily
built, and apparently the son of some woods guide; for he carried a gun,
and was dressed in rough though serviceable khaki trousers and blue
flannel shirt.