MISSING
The startling thing that followed, happened suddenly. Skinny struck
a match and in its brief uncertain light Danville saw him stumble and
fall. For just a second he was aware of something that looked like a
log and he supposed that Skinny had tripped on this. Then he sniffed
smoke and in less than half a minute the tiny place was full of
suffocating fumes. Yet there was no blaze, only a little red glow
which shed no illumination.
"Quick, get out of here," Danville gasped. "See that little streak
of daylight? Follow that, it's the entrance."
"I know, you come too," Skinny said, as he began coughing.
"Get down and crawl," Danville was just able to say; "keep near the
ground!" He was overcome by a paroxysm of coughing but he heard,
half-consciously, a sound which he thought to be Skinny crawling
away. "All right?" he asked, his senses reeling. He heard Skinny
answer, but the words were not clear. He did not know whether that
was because Skinny could not speak clearly or because of the drumming
in his own ears. His eyes were streaming and he fought for every
breath.
He would have fallen unconscious if he had not lowered himself to a
crawling posture. Even so the ground seemed uncertain under him,
like a yielding mattress. But he was in muddy water and the wetness
reminded him to pull off his scarf and saturate it in the puddle.
Hardly conscious of what he did, he pulled the dripping scarf over
his head and face, gathering up the end of it between his teeth.
His head swam, his hands trembled, but with his face swathed in the
dripping scarf he was measurably restored. He was conscious of the
gritty taste of thin mud in his mouth, and the stinging in his eyes
diminished. For a few seconds he was sufficiently master of his
senses to wish that he had reminded Skinny to wet his shirt and take
it in his teeth. He called but the word he uttered did not sound
like Skinny to his swimming brain.
He was just conscious enough to know that he must act quickly. His
improvised mask afforded but incomplete and temporary relief, and he
knew that he was tottering on the brink of oblivion. But by pulling
the scarf away from his eyes he was able to see that little glint
which told of the fresh air and the bright, clear world outside. On
hands and knees he crawled toward it. Suddenly his hand lay against
something soft; he felt cloth, then hair, then a face. His senses
were reeling now, his head bursting. He gathered more of the wet
scarf into his mouth. In a vague way he realized that this soft
object was Skinny, that the little fellow had not escaped, but had
sunk unconscious.
He could not speak to ask a question. What he did he seemed to be
doing in a trance. But he got his arm around the prostrate form and
hauled it with him toward the tiny beacon. To his ebbing senses the
fume-filled place seemed vast, he was oddly persuaded that he had
miles of suffocating area to cross, hauling his limp burden. Even
the little glint of light deserted him. It did not disappear, but
there were other lights, not real, but in his reeling brain. They
came and went like stars and he knew not which light to follow.
Still he moved, slowly, uncertainly; one might say unconsciously. He
fell over his lifeless burden, let his throbbing head rest for just a
moment on the soft body, then gathered the wet scarf again into his
mouth and knew that he was still alive by the gritty, earthy taste in
his mouth. He could not keep his stinging eyes open, but he thought,
or rather felt (for his mind was not capable of thinking) that he was
near the entrance. Instinctively he reached out a clammy hand and
groped for the light, as if it were something tangible that he could
get hold of. His cold, trembling fingers closed upon a bit of root
in the rocky passage. The knowledge of this inner entrance had quite
passed from his mind, but instinctively he clutched the root and
pulled with all his might, dragging the body after him. He knew (as
one is conscious in a dream) that he was pulling with one hand,
dragging something with the other, and helping his progress with both
feet, in this final, supreme, spasmodic effort.
And it brought him to where the air was a little clearer. Even here
in the passage it was thick and stifling, but it was mixed with the
pure air of heaven. He never knew how he groped his way out. But
there came a moment when he pushed the muddy, drenched scarf from his
mouth and breathed freely, though his head pounded and his eyes
stung. He was under the tilted root of the great tree, brushing the
dangling tentacles aside with his hand as he crawled through,
dragging his burden after him. Not until he emerged on the rugged,
green hillside did he pause. He heard a bird singing. Just as he
sank back in utter exhaustion he saw several crows in flight
overhead; their cawing sounded miles away. Idly, half-consciously,
he tried to count them.
Hazily, he looked at the face of the boy he had dragged to safety.
It was streaked with blood and dirt from contact with the rocky
earth. The eyes were closed; the body lay limp, in a way to strike
terror, with an arm extended as if the prostrate thing were making a
speech. The victim wore a scout suit which was in shreds and covered
with mud. Danville blinked his stinging eyes, trying with his slowly
returning senses to comprehend this strange sequel to his harrowing
adventure. He did not know what to make of it; all that he knew was
that the boy was not Skinny.
And Skinny was nowhere to be seen.