_In which Clarence engages in a swimming race, and to the
consternation of Dora, disappears in the waters of the
Mississippi._
On the following day, the camp did not break up at the usual early
hour. Pete remained in his tent nursing his injuries. The gypsies were
kept mindful of his presence, now by an occasional bellow from the
leader, now by a roaring burst of profanity. Ben had disappeared early
in the morning; and it was for him they were waiting before they
proceeded further.
It was nearly noon-time when he returned. After an interview with Pete,
he called Clarence aside.
“Do you know where I have been, my boy?”
“No; where?”
“To McGregor.”
“You have! Is it far from here?”
“It’s ten miles down the river.”
“And what about my parents?”
“They stayed over at McGregor till yesterday afternoon, hoping to
recover your body.”
“My body?”
“Yes. They are sure you were drowned. They have been dragging the river
for you ever since you disappeared. Yesterday, your father had to leave.
There’s a reward of one thousand dollars for your body.”
“Gee! I didn’t know I was worth that much.”
“Clarence,” continued Ben, “I’m sorry we’ve kept you. It isn’t all my
fault. And I’m sorry about Dora. Pete is a born kidnapper; and he has
more power than me. Anyhow, no matter what happens, so long as I’m alive
I’ll see that no harm comes to that dear little girl.”
“Ben, you are a good fellow.” And Clarence shook Ben’s hand with vigor.
Within fifteen minutes the gypsies were on the road. They made only five
or six miles that day, and about two hours before sunset pitched their
tents in a clearing at the river side about fifteen miles north of
Prairie du Chien.
Clarence, at the first opportunity, went to the river and looked about
for a good place to swim. There was no need for a search. The suitable
place was awaiting him. He had hardly got into his bathing suit when
Ezra appeared and, saying little, followed him into the water.
Ezra was a good swimmer. He used a powerful overhand stroke.
“Say, Ezra, why do you always swim overhand?”
“It’s the best and swiftest,” answered the gypsy boy.
“It may be the swiftest,” returned Clarence; “but it’s no good for a
long swim. I prefer going sailor fashion.”
“It’s the best for a long swim, if you’ve got the strength to keep it
up,” retorted Ezra.
“All the same,” said Clarence, “I’ve got to see the boy who can beat me
out in a long distance swim, if he sticks to the overhand.”
“You mean to say you can beat me?” said Ezra.
“Of course, I can,” returned Clarence superbly. “I can beat you or any
of your family.”
“You see that island in the middle of the river?” asked Ezra, pointing
as he spoke to a long, low island nearly a mile in length. Clarence
looked at it intently. It was thickly wooded and ended to the south in a
clump of willows deeply submerged in the water. The two boys were
bathing in a spot facing almost directly the middle of the long island.
“It seems to me I do,” answered Clarence; “and it must be at least half
a mile from us.”
“I’ll race you to the island,” said Ezra.
“You’ll lose,” returned Clarence.
“Hey!” cried Ezra, “hey, Ben! this kid says he can beat me to that
island. May I race him?”
“Come here, you two,” said Ben, approaching them. As Pete was still
nursing an inflamed neck, face, and temper, Ben was now in command of
the camp. “Here’s a good place for diving off,” he continued, pointing
to a spot where the bank rose three feet or more above the water’s edge.
“Stand back, both of you, on a line with me, and when I say ‘go’ start
out with a good dive.”
The two lads ranged themselves beside Ben. Clarence appeared to be
unusually serious. One would think, looking upon him just then, that the
winning of this race was to him a matter of life and death. The color
had almost entirely left his cheeks, his mouth was closed tight, his
chin thrown out, and his whole poise indicated supreme earnestness.
“Are you both ready?” asked Ben.
“I am,” returned Ezra, who was quite cool and perfectly confident.
“Wait one second,” said Clarence. Then he gravely bowed his head and
made the Sign of the Cross.
“Wait!” came another voice; and all three turning saw Pete’s wife
hurrying towards them.
Holding out a skinny finger and pointing it impressively at Clarence,
she screamed:
“May you sink, and never come up. May you drown, and your body never be
found. May my curse follow you into the other world.”
“Is that all, ma’am?” asked Clarence breaking into his sunniest smile.
The woman choked with rage. She tried to speak, but words and voice both
failed her.
“Come on, boys,” resumed Ben. “Ready?”
“Yes,” answered the two in a breath.
“Go!”
At the word, the boys sprang into the water. Both disappeared beneath
the surface at the same time. Within a few seconds, Ezra emerged and his
hands rose high and fast above his head in the overhand stroke. Several
seconds passed, and those watching on the shore began to show signs of
nervousness. All the gypsies, save, of course, the snarling and profane
invalid, were now gathered together beside Ben. Even Dora, who was never
to be seen at the river side when the men were swimming, had joined the
gazers, standing a few yards apart.
“Oh, Ben,” she cried, “what’s happened to Clarence?”
Ben made no answer. Scanning the surface of the river intently, he was
pulling off his shoes.
“He’s drowned! He’s drowned!” screamed the gypsy hag. “My curse has
fallen.” Her laugh, horrible to the ear, rang out carrying in its
undertones all manner of evil omen.
As the woman was speaking, Dora fell upon her knees.
“Holy Mary,” she cried aloud, “save your dear child, Clarence. Remember
he is not baptized.”
The girl had not yet finished her adjuration when a great shout arose
from the men and shrill screams from the children. Far out, fully five
yards ahead of Ezra and as many yards further down stream, Clarence came
to the surface. The boy had been the best long distance diver of all the
youngsters attending Clermont Academy, the eastern boarding school.
A howl of rage arose from the old woman.
“Get up! Get up!” she cried, rushing with outstretched and hooked claws
at the kneeling girl. It was only by the quickest of movements that Ben
was able to save the child from bodily injury. As it was, the woman
dashed into Ben’s rigid and protecting elbow, and, doubled up with pain,
retired shrieking and cursing to the genial companionship of her
husband.
Meantime the race went on bravely. The two boys for the next ten minutes
retained their respective positions, with, however, one point of
difference. Ezra was swimming in almost a direct line; Clarence was
being carried down the river by the current. As the moments passed, the
distance between the two visibly widened.
Ben was wringing his hands and frowning.
“What is it, Ben?” asked Dora. “Is there any danger? Is there anything
wrong?”
“I’m afraid,” Ben made answer, “that if Clarence doesn’t fight the
current more strongly, he may be carried down below the island. Unless
he’s a wonderful swimmer, there will be danger.”
Ben’s forebodings promised, as the moments went on, to be justified.
Both boys were nearing the island, Ezra not more than twenty yards below
the point from which he had set out. Clarence quite near the clump of
southernmost willows.
“Do you think he’ll reach it?” cried the girl.
“I hope so; I don’t know.”
Once more Dora fell upon her knees, and crossing herself, prayed with
streaming eyes to the heavenly Mother in whom she ever confided.
“Look,” cried Ben. “Ezra has reached the island. And Clarence is trying
to swim upstream so as not to miss it. My God!” he continued, “I do
believe he’s giving out!”
A deathly silence had come upon all. Clarence was swimming wildly. He
had abandoned the sailor stroke and was beating the water with aimless
hands. On the stillness his voice reached them.
“Help! Help!” he cried.
Then throwing up his hands, apparently within a few yards of the
willows, he disappeared in the calm river.