'As Gold in the Furnace' Part 27

"Now be calm. Tell us quietly what has happened," said Bracebridge.

Smithers again gibbered something. The listeners could make nothing of it. They began to think the boy had lost his reason.

"--prefect--dead--struck--innocent," were some of the words caught by the listening boys.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Beecham, "the prefect is dead, struck by lightning, up on the hill walk. Is that it, Smithers?"

The one appealed to, not fully comprehending the question, and half beside himself, nodded a.s.sent.

"Gill, quick, go at once to the President. Then take care of this fellow. Send a priest as soon as you can up the hill. Jack and Tom, you come with me."

Ambrose naturally a.s.sumed the leadership in the emergency. The three ran along the walk and up the hillside path as fast as their legs could carry them.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE FALLEN TREE

Having seen from the cla.s.sroom a large part of the great oak fall when the bolt came, the three boys supposed that was the spot where the tragedy must have taken place. They noticed the havoc the storm had wrought. Many large limbs of trees were scattered across their path.

In several places the walk was washed out, leaving large gullies. On the thickly wooded hillside the damage was the greatest.

Arriving at the oak tree they were at a loss. They saw no sign of any human being. They picked up Smithers' plaid cloth cap which he had lost in his wild flight homeward. Beecham began to beat it against a young sapling to rid it of some of the mud.

"We must go farther yet. This is not the place," said Ambrose.

Fully one-third of the great oak tree had been riven from the trunk.

It lay across their path, necessitating a detour amid the still dripping underbrush to pa.s.s it. The oak was in the full of its early summer foliage, forming an impenetrable green wall across the hillside path.

As they were threading their way through the thick low growth on the upper side, Jack Beecham glanced into the dense ma.s.s of fallen foliage. His eyes were caught by something black beneath the green.

Thinking it was perhaps an old log, blown there by the storm before the lightning damaged the oak, he was about to pa.s.s on, but gave a second look. The black thing under the leaves was surely not a bough!

Again he peered into the tree-top.

"Great heavens! there he is under that oak!" he said.

The three pushing aside the boughs saw the bleeding, white face of some one who was apparently dead.

"Poor Mr. Shalford!" exclaimed Shealey.

"Nonsense! Don't you see that's not Mr. Shalford at all. It's one of the boys. Who can it be?"

They all looked again into the leaves, and were satisfied that it was not their prefect.

"Who is it?" asked Shealey.

"I believe it is--it is Stockley," said Bracebridge.

"You don't say!" exclaimed Shealey, "at all events we must get him out of that tangle, dead or alive."

"I don't believe that oak killed him, anyway," remarked Jack Beecham.

"Why?" asked Ambrose, in a whisper, for in the presence of death they were awed.

"Look here," said Beecham, "no big limb has reached him. These twigs and leaves would give one a sharp switch when falling, and probably knock him down, but they are too small to break any bones."

"Maybe that's true. Well, we shall soon find out," said Ambrose. "Now, boys, how are we to get him clear of that tree-top?"

They procured a strong stick, and while two lifted as many of the small boughs as they could, Bracebridge pushed the pole over the prostrate body. He then raised his end, the other being on the ground on the other side of the body. The two other boys took hold of Stockley's shoulders and successfully drew him from under the tree, as, fortunately, he had not been caught by any of the larger limbs.

Gently as possible they drew him out from under the ma.s.s of foliage, but gentle as they were, they necessarily used some force. To their surprise--and satisfaction--they heard him groan. He was not dead after all, but undoubtedly badly hurt.

No sooner had Stockley been extricated than Mr. Shalford appeared. The boys who were bending over the prostrate body looked up.

"Oh, sir!" said Ambrose, "we thought it was you," and he pointed to Stockley. There was love in the tone, making Mr. Shalford treasure the simple words for many a day.

"Why?"

"That stupid Smithers said so. I think he was too frightened to know what he was saying."

The moving of Stockley restored him to a state of semi-consciousness, in which he talked incoherently. One arm hung loosely, evidently broken above the elbow. When touched in the ribs the suffering boy groaned aloud, so that it was quite probable that some were fractured.

There was a cut on the forehead, and another on the lower lip. The injuries, as far as could be then learned, while serious, were not necessarily fatal.

A priest from the college having arrived, the rest withdrew some paces while the minister of G.o.d tried to elicit some act of conscious sorrow for sin. It seemed to the boys that he succeeded, for from the distance they saw him raise his hand and make the sign of the cross as in sacramental absolution.

"I do not think he will die," said the priest as the others drew near.

"See there, that is what must have done the mischief. He was caught up here in the wind-storm, and one of those dead limbs struck him. You say you found him beneath the tops of the fallen oak. Those twigs could not have inflicted these injuries."

Intermittently Stockley muttered incoherent words. Bracebridge and Beecham knelt on either side of him, nervously anxious to catch every sound. Unknown to each other, both had simultaneously formed a strange suspicion. Once both distinctly heard the words: "Clear--Henning."

What could that mean? They caught the word "letter," but to neither did this convey intelligence, because neither knew of the existence of the copy or draft of that letter which Roy Henning had written to some unknown friend. They heard other disconnected words, for instance, "sweater," and "Garrett," but these words had no meaning for them.

They did not, for all that, lose a single word, but stored up everything in their memories, being sure that something would come of it in good time.

Harry Gill and others arrived with a wire mattress, the best temporary subst.i.tute for a stretcher. There was no lack of willing hands to convey the injured boy down the hill to the infirmary.

Gill's report of Smithers' frantic words spread like wildfire in the yard. Most of the boys believed the kindly prefect had been killed by a falling tree. Few had seen him after the report began, because he had at once started for the walk.

Notwithstanding the appalling nature of the accident, when the boys saw Mr. Shalford return safe and sound they could scarce refrain from giving a hearty cheer. One began to wave his hat and was on the point of opening his mouth. Mr. Shalford was immensely surprised at such a strange proceeding at such a solemn moment, never for a moment dreaming it was all for him. He stopped all noise with an imperative "Hush!"

All the boys cl.u.s.tered around the infirmary steps awaiting the reappearance of the prefect. In about half an hour he came. He told the boys the extent of Stockley's injuries, and said that it was the physician's opinion that none of the wounds were likely to prove fatal.

"Hurrah for Mr. Shalford!" shouted George McLeod.

"McLeod, are you taking leave of your senses? If you don't be quiet I'll send you back to Mr. Silverton to the division yard."

But the boys took up McLeod's lead and gave three cheers for the prefect.

"And what on earth is that for?" he asked.

"Why, sir, don't you know? Smithers said you were killed!"