CONCLUDES THE ADVENTURE AND SHOWS TOM SLEEPING THE SLEEP OF THE JUST
At the first alarm Nelson and Tom had sprung down the gangway to the
float, ready to lend assistance to Dan. Luckily there were no boats at
the head of the pier, and so Dan had struck nothing harder than the
water. He was up in an instant.
“Are you hurt?” called Nelson anxiously.
“No, I’m all right,” was the reply. “Did they hear?”
“Yes, they’re coming!” And Nelson slipped into the water, followed by
Tom, and struck out vigorously.
“Swim like the dickens!” counseled Dan. “Make for the shore!”
Back of them a lantern was swaying down the path and a voice cried:
“Who’s that? What’s the matter?”
But the boys offered no explanations. They were very busy at that
moment. There was no thought now of quietness; their one endeavor was
to get to shore as soon as possible. Once Nelson turned to look. The
light of the lantern showed two or possibly three forms on the pier,
and from the way the lantern was lowered and carried back and forth he
knew that they had seen the wet footprints and, perhaps, had discovered
the loss of the pole.
“Some of your boys on a lark, I fancy,” said a voice. “I’m certain I
heard them swimming away as I came down. No, I won’t go along, thanks.”
When Nelson glanced back again the lantern was moving about the float.
After that he attended strictly to business. Tom and Dan were well in
the lead and he swam his hardest to overtake them. Hand over hand he
went, _splash_, _splash_, his eyes full of water, and his breath coming
harder and harder. Then a new sound came to him, the steady churn of
the Chicora’s propeller. Desperation lent new strength and in a dozen
strokes he was even with Dan; Tom still led by a couple of lengths.
“They’re after us in the launch,” gasped Dan. “When we get--near
shore--spread out--and take--to the woods. They won’t see--the canoe.”
“All right,” answered Nelson.
The camp record for the quarter mile was something a little under
nine minutes, but there is no doubt but that that record was smashed
to fragments that night, at least by Tom. Yet in spite of their best
endeavors the launch gained on them from the start. Had they had
much farther to go they would have been caught beyond a doubt. As
it was they were in the darkness under the trees before the Chicora
could reach them. The launch could not come nearer than twenty yards
from shore because of her draft, and that fact saved them. As they
floundered, up to their waists, over the submerged branches and rocks
toward land they heard a hail from the boat:
“Stop where you are or I’ll fire at you!”
“Down!” whispered Dan. Nelson heard, but Tom, who was well ahead,
splashed on, sounding in the stillness like an elephant at his bath.
The Chicora had stopped her screw, and those on board were listening
intently. Dan and Nelson, flat on their stomachs in two feet of water,
made no sound and waited nervously for the report of Mr. Clinton’s
revolver. They were certain that he couldn’t see them and certain that
he wouldn’t shoot them if he did; but he might discharge his revolver
to scare them, and there was just an unpleasant possibility that one or
other of them might be hit by mistake. Tom had subsided on the ground
at the edge of the woods, and they could hear him panting heavily where
he lay. Then:
“I heard only one,” said Mr. Clinton, his words coming clear and
distinct across the water. “Surely one of our boys wouldn’t do such a
trick alone.”
“There may be more around, though,” said Thorpe.
“I doubt it. More likely it was some one looking for a chance to steal.
Although why he wanted a flagpole is beyond me. Anyhow, we can’t get
any nearer. We’ll go on to camp, I guess.”
Then, to the boys’ relief, the screw started again and the light that
marked the position of the launch moved away up the lake.
“Quick!” whispered Dan. “We must make a run for it. If we can get into
our bunks before he gets there we’ll be all right.”
They floundered out of the water, were joined by Tom, and went crashing
through the woods, bumping into trees, lashing their faces with
branches, and making enough noise to be heard by those on the launch
had it not been for the beat of the propeller. Fortunately the road was
but a short distance, and once on that they made fine time.
“Talk about your hare-and-hounds!” gasped Nelson. “Gee!”
When they reached the clearing they stopped running and went forward
cautiously. All was silent and deserted. In a moment they had gained
Maple Hall. But Dan stopped them before they had laid foot on the porch.
“We must wipe our feet,” he said, “or Clint will see the tracks. Here.”
Some one had left a towel over the railing, and with this they
hurriedly wiped their feet clean of dirt and leaves. Their bodies had
dried long since and were glowing from their exertions. Just as the
towel was thrown aside and they had mounted the porch a light gleamed
between the trees of the path from the landing and voices reached them.
“Quick!” whispered Nelson. “What did you do with the towel? We mustn’t
leave it here.” He picked it up and followed the others into the
gloom of the dormitory, treading softly over the creaking boards. If
Dr. Smith was awake it was all up with them. But the bed by the door
gave no sound. The hall was silent save for the deep breathing and
occasional snores of its occupants. Nelson found his bunk, tossed the
soiled towel beneath it, dived into his pajamas, and slipped into bed
just as the door at the end of the dormitory became suddenly illumined
and footsteps sounded on the porch outside. He was panting hard, but
he drew the clothes up to his chin, threw one arm over his head, and
strove to look as though he had been asleep for hours. Then he waited,
hoping that Tom and Dan had gained their bunks and that Mr. Clinton
would not look too closely at his hair, which was still wet.
Then the light glowed against his closed lids and he heard the Chief
and Mr. Thorpe walking slowly down the aisle. And at the same moment
he became aware of a sound he had not heard before, a loud, unmusical
wheeze and gurgle that came from his side of the hall further down. The
next instant he realized what it was and would have given much to have
been able to give vent to the laughter that threatened to choke him.
Tom was snoring!
To have heard that snore would have satisfied any one that Thomas
Courtenay Ferris had been sleeping the sleep of the just for many
hours. And Mr. Clinton was no exception. When he raised the lantern
over Tom’s wide-open mouth and listened to the evidence that poured
forth he smiled and walked on. Up the aisle he went, stopping at each
bunk. And then:
“Everything seems all right here, Thorpe,” Nelson heard him mutter.
“Yes, I guess you were right, sir,” answered Mr. Thorpe with a yawn.
“I guess I was, only--what any one should want with a flagpole is more
than I can see!”
Then they retraced their steps, passed out of the door and disappeared,
and Nelson, raising his head with a sigh of relief, saw the lantern’s
light grow dimmer and dimmer. Two minutes later they were all on Dan’s
bunk, hysterically whispering and giggling, and it was an hour later
when sleepiness at last broke up the meeting. When the first bugle
sounded three of the occupants of Maple Hall only muttered and turned
over again, to arise finally with heavy eyes and aching limbs.