OUT IN THE STORM
"Hey, there, come back with that boat!" yelled Howard Fenton.
"Oh, of course we won't!" came from "Little Bill."
"Swim out, Willie, and we'll throw you a line!" shouted Sanders, with a
derisive laugh.
"Make a hundred yards' dash for it. I'll bet on the fat boy!"
"Give Fenton ten feet start, an' he wouldn't lose by more'n a hundred!"
"Dive off the cliff! Don't go in Havens' boat--it has a hole in it!"
These words, floating over the air, grew fainter, as the "Dauntless"
drew away from the island, her sail, a shining patch of white in the
sunlight, and her hull scarcely seen against the rippling water.
"Well, this is a pretty how-de-do, isn't it?" growled Dick. "Talk about
cheek, eh? Looks as if they're going to take their time in coming
back, too."
"Oh, never mind," said Fenton, resignedly. "As long as the boat isn't
hurt, I don't care. Anyway, we can't help ourselves."
Jim Havens looked disturbed.
"Honest, fellows, I didn't know a thing about it," he exclaimed,
earnestly. "Didn't think that Sanders would play such a mean trick."
"Fenton ought to punch him good and plenty," said hot-headed Dick
Travers.
"Rather out of my line," laughed the New York boy. "It's only a bit of
fun on their part. Let's be philosophical, like our friend," and he
pointed toward Dave Brandon asleep on the mossy bank.
"Guess you're right," assented Bob. "Perhaps they won't be long. Awful
nerve, though."
Jim Havens brightened up when he saw that the visitors were disposed to
take it good-naturedly.
"They're not going to hurt the boat," he said; "but I'm afraid that
Dugan will keep right on to the village. He's been wanting for some
time to get a gun that he left with his uncle."
"Why didn't he take your boat, then?"
"Well, the 'Dart' ain't much for speed," admitted Jim, with a faint
smile.
"Oh, that's it. But say, I've heard that 'Little Bill' is rather
reckless with boats."
"Maybe, but Sanders ain't. Whenever you fellers are ready, I'll take
you to the shore--that is, if the two don't get back before that time."
"How about that hole in the boat?" asked Tom Clifton.
"It isn't much. We ran into a rock yesterday and dented a couple of
boards. It's all fixed now."
"And strong enough to hold a ton or so?" laughed Travers, pointing
toward Dave Brandon.
The object of his remarks sat up and yawned.
"Had a fine nap--say, what's up?" he asked.
"You haven't been, for one thing," replied Dick. "Pirates have run off
with the 'Dauntless.'"
"Is that all?" said the poet, calmly, rubbing his eyes. "Thought,
from the way you looked, that something had happened. Tell me about it."
Dave smiled at the recital.
"Real saucy chaps," he said. "That bank makes a capital place for a
nap. When the 'Dauntless' hoves in sight, let me know."
But when several hours had passed, and there was no sign of the boat,
all concluded that Havens' surmise must be correct.
The boys sat around, talked about baseball and hunting, and stood up
and talked about the same things. Then they strolled up and down the
pebbly beach, and cast many an anxious look over the choppy water, for
the wind was blowing much more strongly, and only Dave Brandon was
content.
Finally they lounged around a cheerful blaze, while supper was being
prepared.
[Illustration: THEY LOUNGED AROUND A CHEERFUL BLAZE.]
Being accustomed to roughing it, none would have cared if they had been
compelled to spend the night on the island, but Howard Fenton did not
wish to worry his father by an unexpected absence. Therefore, when
darkness began to approach, he asked Jim Havens to get the "Dart" ready.
They stayed, however, to finish their scanty meal, and then cleaned up,
still hoping that the "Dauntless" would put in an appearance.
When Howard Fenton finally walked down to the water's edge, the tree
tops were sighing noisily, and black, wild-looking clouds had risen
above the top of the cliff. A sudden and rapidly growing darkness fell
over the scene. It was apparent that the twilight would be very quickly
blotted out.
"Guess we'll have a rough night of it," observed Bob.
"A downright stormy one," grumbled Dick. "Why don't those duffers come
back?"
"We're in for a good ducking--that's what," put in Tom Clifton.
"I really have to get over to the shore, fellows," spoke up Fenton,
earnestly. "My pater would imagine all sorts of terrible things."
"Well, here we go," said Havens, briefly.
"Pile in," added Bob, as he sprang on board the "Dart."
"By Jove, it certainly looks wild out there," declared Sam Randall,
indicating the sombre expanse of lake.
"Enough to make a fellow feel kind of creepy, eh?" chimed in Tom. "The
wind is freshening, too."
"Don't get scared," said Havens, calmly. "Let me run up a couple of
these 'electric lights,' and we'll get under way with a rush."
Several lanterns were fastened in position, then the skipper, aided by
Howard Fenton, started to shove off. Clumsy and heavily laden, the boat
resisted their efforts for a moment, then swung out suddenly into the
gurgling water, at the same instant giving a lurch which was far from
reassuring.
The sail was hoisted and the "Dart" instantly responded by plunging her
nose deeply in the water, white showers of spray were sent flying in
all directions.
Dave Brandon was presently heard to murmur, "H'm--that last one hit the
only dry spot left."
In the dim light, the crags of Promontory Island looked gigantic
and the dark line of firs on Hemlock blended mysteriously into the
distance.
"I 'most wish we hadn't come," declared Tom Clifton, nervously. "Wow! I
thought she was going over that time sure."
"Wind enough to blow a fellow's head off," grumbled Dick. "It's worse
than I thought."
"And listen to that water gurgling," observed Fenton. "Keep your eyes
open for the 'Dauntless.'"
"Likely to meet her in the passageway," said Havens, grimly. "Hold on
tight, fellows, and mind your heads!"
The sail rattled and banged as the boom swung around, while a sheet of
water foamed over the sides. Already they were drawing near the space
which separated the islands.
"Oh, we'll get smashed to bits," groaned Tom Clifton.
"Not on your life, sonny," laughed the skipper. "I could go through
here with my eyes shut."
A moment more, and the "Dart" glided into comparatively smooth water.
"Oh, ho! This is better," remarked the "poet," cheerfully, "but I guess
the next stretch will be worse than ever, eh, Bob?"
"We're going to be tossed about a bit, that's sure," commented the
captain. "How wet are you, Chub, anyway?"
"Just a little more than if I'd been soused in the lake," laughed Dave.
"Hello, here comes the finishing touch--rain, by Jove! Might as well
get out and swim."
When the "Dart" reached the end of the passageway, the lights of the
village could be seen, apparently so distant that Tom uttered an
exclamation.
"Crickets, think of all that water to be crossed!" he groaned.
"Seems a lot because it's dark," put in Havens. "The 'Dart' isn't so
fast, but she'll make it in no time, with this breeze."
As they rounded the shore of Hemlock Island, a pouring rain began to
beat in their faces, and almost every instant hissing, foaming water
dashed over the gunwale. Once outside its friendly shelter, the "Dart"
began to pitch and toss in an alarming manner.
Suddenly, a furious blast heeled her far over and she shivered from
stem to stern.
A chorus of excited exclamations rose above the whistling wind.
"Get the bucket, somebody!" yelled Havens. "Bale her out, quick!"
Bob Somers, reaching forward, was tumbled to his knees in the water
that swished forth and back with every movement of the boat.
But he got the bucket. Dick seized another, and both set vigorously to
work.
"Don't let up, fellows," commanded Havens. "Here's another big one.
Hold on tight!"
Again the "Dart" staggered and shook. For an instant, the boys fairly
held their breath. Then Sam Randall made an alarming discovery.
"Great Cæsar!" he cried. "The piece of wood which plugged up that hole
in the side is gone!"
"And the water is just pouring in," added Havens, in a voice which
betrayed both surprise and agitation.
"Oh, why did we ever come!" wailed little Tom Clifton.
"Everybody look around for that piece of board," went on the skipper,
earnestly. "Hurry up--hole isn't much above the water line."
A quick search proved without result.
"Fill it up with any old thing," commanded Dave. "Don't get scared,
fellows. Shore isn't very far now."
The boy's calm tones inspired the others, and an instant later Bob
Somers was stuffing an old coat through the opening. Even Tom Clifton
forgot his fright for the moment.
The downpour increased, however, until the village lights were entirely
blotted out. Nothing could now be seen through the impenetrable
blackness, and all sense of direction was speedily lost. The lanterns
threw weird splashes of light around the storm-tossed boat and upon its
water-soaked occupants. All strained their eyes to pierce the gloom,
hoping that each moment the veil might lift, but the minutes flew by
with nothing to cheer their sight.
"We're in an awful fix," groaned Tom Clifton, his teeth almost
chattering. "Where in the dickens are we, Havens?"
"It would take a smarter chap than I am to tell you, Tom."
"And we're just racing along, too."
"Going like sixty--that's a fact."
"Jim, you're a reckless skipper," said Howard Fenton. "It's a good
thing you know more than we do about the lake."
The light revealed an anxious expression upon Havens' face, but he held
the tiller with a firm grip and remained perfectly cool.
"Here, Sam, take hold of this bucket for a moment and bail!" cried Dick
Travers. "Whew! we owe Sanders and Dugan something for this;" and, as
he was relieved, Dick groped his way forward.
The violent motion began to have its effect upon Tom Clifton. "I feel
awful funny, fellows," he gasped. "Christopher, I do!"
"I say, Havens," yelled Bob, "we must be getting pretty well in, now.
Hadn't you better come about on another tack?"
"Wouldn't be surprised. The wind has shifted two or three times and
there's no telling which way we may be headed." The skipper smiled
grimly. "The rain is letting up a bit," he added. "Look out for the
lights ahead and keep on bailing."
"Feeling better now, Tommy?" asked Dave Brandon. "You'll be----"
"Great Cæsar!" An exclamation interrupted him. Then a series of wild
shouts arose on the night air, as a crunching and grinding suddenly
sounded.
"What's up--what's the----" But Dave did not finish the sentence.
A violent shock tumbled the boys in a confused heap. Then came a
terrific pounding. The "Dart" gave a convulsive shiver, turned sharply
over on its side, and seven boys, wildly grabbing at empty space, were
sent heels over head into the black water of Mountain Lake.
As he felt the chilling water encircle his neck, Tom Clifton gave a
frantic shout for help. Then his cries were instantly stifled.
Choking, gripped by a terror which nerved him to fight with all the
energy he possessed, Tom struggled to reach the surface. Unable, like
the others, to swim, he could only kick and thresh out with his arms
in a blind and desperate effort. He had a confused idea of touching
bottom--then, gasping and choking, his head rose clear of the swirling
water.
Vainly he tried to keep afloat. Down he went again, until his ears
began to sing and the water poured down his throat. Then, as he gave
up hope, something touched his collar with a firm, strong grip, and he
felt himself rising. His head came above the surface for the second
time, and a voice shouted in his ear, "Put your legs down and stand
straight up!"
Dave Brandon's strong arms held him, and, mechanically obeying his
friend's command, Tom found to his astonishment that by so doing he
could touch bottom.
The wave of thankfulness which swept through him could not quite blot
out the few awful moments through which he had just passed, and, for
the time being, all he could do was to stand erect and hold on tight.
"Feel all right, Tommy?" asked the "poet," kindly.
It was difficult to talk, with the water bubbling and splashing around
them. And the wind was cold. Even Dave's teeth were chattering and his
words came out in a series of jerks.
"Sure--fine," whispered Tom.
His hand closed with a tighter grip on that of Dave's. Then his eyes
fell on a curious spectacle.
Close by, partly submerged, was the "Dart." A lone lantern illuminated
with a feeble, yellow glow the heads of his companions, all staring at
him anxiously.
"You make me think of a lot of pumpkins."
That is what Tom meant to say, but the cold and a strange weakness
prevented such a lengthy effort.
Presently he heard Jim Havens remark, "Tommy's all right, fellows.
Let's skip before we get stuck in the mud." Then, almost before he
realized it, they had left the treacherous water and were climbing up a
bank.
"I feel like a beautiful mess," groaned Havens, when they came to a
halt.
"I'd like to have a good, square look at you," returned Bob, grimly.
"I want to laugh, but can't. It isn't any island for you to-night, eh,
Havens?"
"Not unless I swim back," was the reply. "Something is holding the
'Dart' fast. Awful lucky we weren't spilled out in the middle of
the lake. Come along, fellows," he added. "Let's get our blood in
circulation;" and he started off on a trot.
Bedraggled and miserable, his companions followed through the rain.
The exercise began to warm their chilled bodies and the prospect of
reaching shelter spurred them on.
When the lights of the Resort House were seen burning against the
blackness, the group slowed down.
They declined Fenton's invitation to stop at the hotel.
"We'd like to, old man," grinned Bob, "but it's the Rickham for us
to-night."
Sam Bins was amazed when the five boys arrived.
"Fo' de land ob goodness, is you de same gemmen what left dis mornin'?"
he asked. "Whar', fo' goodness' sake, has yo' been?"
"In the lake, paying a visit to the fishes," replied Bob, as he made a
break for his room.
Three-quarters of an hour later, the Ramblers, in dry clothes, were
enjoying a hearty meal, and Sam Bins' curiosity was satisfied.