Rod of the Lone Patrol Part 32

"It's him, doc! My G.o.d, it's Jimmy!" It was all the old man could say. He shook like a leaf, and sitting suddenly down upon a splint-bottom chair, he buried his face in his hands.

"Are you sure?" the doctor asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Sure," was the low reply. "Strange I didn't know him at first. But it's him all right. And, say, doc, ye'll bring him around, won't ye?"

and the captain raised his eyes appealingly to his companion's face.

"I shall do all I can, captain, never fear."

"May the Lord bless ye, doc, fer them words. Isn't it lucky that ye're here to-night? Jist think what the scouts have done. But fer them my Jimmy would be lyin' out there in the storm. And, say, d'ye believe in G.o.d?"

"Y-yes, I suppose so," was the somewhat doubtful response.

"But ye'll be sure now, dead certain, won't ye, doc?"

"Why? I don't catch the drift of your meaning."

"Ye don't? Why, that's queer, after what He's done fer my Jimmy. Who else sent them scouts out there to bring my boy in but Him? And to think that all of these years I've been scoffin' at Him and religion, and then fer Him to do so much fer me and my Jimmy!"

The doctor knew not how to reply, and so continued his smoke, while the captain sat nearby with bent head, deep in thought. The storm still raged without, but there was silence in the kitchen, save for the kettle which sang upon the stove. But a more intense silence reigned within the little bed-room adjoining, where a mother knelt by the side of her only child, holding his cold right hand in hers, and offering up wordless prayers that he might be spared.

News of Jimmy Britt's return soon spread throughout the parish, and everywhere there was the buzz of gossip as to the strange way he had come home. Some thought he must have been drunk, which caused him to fall upon the road. Others believed that he was so poor that he could not afford to be driven from the train. But all were of one mind that his not writing to his parents for years was most mysterious.

While all this talking was going on, Jimmy was being slowly restored to life through the doctor's skill, and the mother's careful nursing.

Mrs. Britt now found the work of looking after two patients almost beyond her power of endurance. It was then that Miss Arabella offered her a.s.sistance, and proved a veritable angel of mercy in her attention to Whyn, and doing what she could about the house.

During the weeks which followed the night of the great storm the scouts did not meet at Headquarters. They knew that the captain had little or no heart for anything now but the care of his son. They accordingly met from house to house, but most often at the rectory, where Mrs.

Royal always made them welcome. They were all greatly interested in the captain's son, of whom they had heard so much, and they longed to see him. Nearly every day Rod went to the Anchorage to see Whyn, and they talked very much about Jimmy. The latter, however, he never saw, as no visitor was allowed in his room.

To the scouts the winter seemed very long, and delighted were they when spring at last set in. The days lengthened rapidly, the snow disappeared, and the ice was fast weakening in the river. It was a fine afternoon when Rod was making his regular visit to Whyn that he saw Jimmy. He was sitting in a sunny spot right in front of the house.

His thick beard had been removed, and his face was very pale after his illness. Rod recognised him in an instant, and it was with difficulty that he kept back a cry of astonishment. With fast-beating heart he rushed into Whyn's room, much to the girl's surprise, for he was in the habit of entering quietly.

"Why, Rod, what's the matter?" she inquired.

"You look half frightened to death."

"It's him, Whyn!" he exclaimed. "I'm sure of it."

"Who is it? What do you mean?" the girl asked. "Sit down, and be sensible."

"He's the very man who was knocked down and robbed in the city, Whyn."

"What man?"

"Jimmy. He's out there. His whiskers are all off, and I knew him the instant I got my eyes on him."

"Does the captain know that?" Whyn questioned, after a moment's thought. "Isn't it strange that Jimmy should have been helped twice by our troop? How delighted Captain Josh will be."

"You tell him, Whyn," Rod suggested. "He ought to know, but if I say anything it will seem like boasting. It was only our good turn, and we are not supposed to say anything about what we do."

Whyn had no scruples, however, and that very afternoon she spoke to the captain. She told him all that Rod had said, how that he was sure that Jimmy was the very man who had been attacked and robbed. The captain said very little, but later he had a long talk with his son, who, up to the present, had been very reticent about the past few years of his life. Jimmy was sitting on a log near the sh.o.r.e when the captain spoke to him about the matter. For a few moments the younger man remained very silent, as he whittled a piece of cedar wood with his sharp knife.

"What's wrong with ye, lad?" the captain asked. "Why can't ye answer a straight question?"

"Sit down, dad, and don't get excited," was the reply. "There, that's better. There's something I want to tell you, and it's been on my mind for weeks past, so it might as well be now as any other time. When I left home I wrote to you quite often. But when I got away north, and mixed up with a rough crowd, I somehow got out of the way of writing.

I was a long way from the post-office, and mails were very irregular, which perhaps had something to do with my neglect. I struck it rich there, dad, and made my pile, which, thank G.o.d, is now safe in the bank. When I came 'outside,' it was to have, as I thought, a good time. I did several of the big cities on the Pacific coast, and then drifted to New York. I need not tell you of my life there, as it wouldn't do any good. I had the money, and so there was no trouble about seeing the seamy side of life. But one night, I don't know yet how it happened, I drifted into a place to hear a famous singer. She was great, and her voice, oh, dad, I wish you could have heard it. But what got me was the closing piece. It was called, 'My Little Lad, G.o.d Bless Him.' I can't begin to tell how that song affected me. It seemed like the cry of a broken-hearted mother for her only boy, who was away from her. In an instant I thought of mother and you, and when I left the place that night I was all broken up. I tried to shake the feeling off, but every night it came upon me stronger than ever.

"As the weeks went by I became very wretched. I saw what a brute I had been, and how you at home must have suffered. The upshot of it was, that I left New York, landed in St. John, got waylaid, was in the hospital unconscious for a long time, unknown to all. When I got out, I took the evening train, intending to hire a team at Greenside to drive me home. I couldn't get any one to bring me at that time of the night, and so I began to foot it. When the storm overtook me I fought hard, but I was very weak, and--oh, well, you know the rest."

When Jimmy was through, the captain sat for some time without saying a word. He looked straight before him, as if watching the ice, and wondering when it would go out. But he saw nothing there, for his mind was upon more important things.

"Jimmy," he at last remarked, "this is all His doin's. I kin see that now. He has protected you, and brought ye back to us."

"Who?" Jimmy asked in surprise. "It was that song which did it."

"Ah, yes, Jimmy. But back of that was Another, the very One I've been neglectin' fer years. It's wonderful, lad! it's wonderful, and don't ye fergit it."

The very next Sunday morning, Parson Dan, and all those at church, were astonished to see the scouts march in, accompanied by their scout-master. It was the first time in years that the captain had been there, and all noted how thoughtful and reverent he was. He had ordered the scouts to attend Headquarters that morning, without telling them of his plans. From there he had marched them straight to church, with orders to behave themselves, and do credit to the troop.

That day there was no one in all the parish as pleased as Parson Dan at the great change which had come over the careless and indifferent captain.

CHAPTER XXV

DRIFT-LOGS

The following week was very stormy. The rain drove up from the south, and the river rose rapidly. The ice, now greatly weakened, slowly stirred before its final rush to the sea. Then the moment arrived when it started forward, impelled by the gathering ma.s.s up-stream. All day long it surged onward, and far on into the night, carrying along trees, and stones, ripping and grinding, demolishing a wharf here, or up-rooting a tree there. No power of man could stop it. People stood on the sh.o.r.e watching the sight, familiar, and yet always new. The last sign of winter had now departed, and all knew that in a few hours the first steamer of the season would be on her way up-river.

With the ice, and following it, came the drift-logs. In a number of cases booms had been broken, and the work of months ruined in an instant. For a hundred miles or more these logs were scattered along the river, drifting with the tide, caught in coves, and mouths of creeks, or stranded upon the sh.o.r.e. To collect as many of these as possible was a big task. Yet it was important, for these logs represented much money, and their entire loss would spell ruin to some lumbermen.

In less than two days after the ice had gone out, a notice was posted at the store. It told of the offer of ten cents for each drift-log.

There were men who made a regular business of this every spring. They bought all the logs which had been collected by the inhabitants along the river, took them to the city, where they were sorted out according to private marks, and sold to their respective owners at an excellent profit.

Formerly, Captain Josh had paid no attention to such posted notices.

The work of gathering drift-logs he considered beneath the dignity of an old sea-captain. "I'm not a scavenger," he had often told people, when they had asked him why he didn't collect the logs which always floated near his sh.o.r.e, and into the little cove just below his house.

"If I can't make a livin' without doin' sich work, then I'll give up."

But this spring the captain studied the notice most carefully, and he walked back to the Anchorage in a very thoughtful mood. He was thinking of the scouts. He was anxious that they should make more money, and here was a fine opportunity. They had already two hundred dollars in the bank, for the bear and the wreaths had added another fifty to the account. But the captain was not satisfied. He longed to have three hundred dollars there, for with that amount there was hardly a possible chance of the Hillcrest troop being beaten in the struggle for the prize. He disliked the idea of now turning scavenger after he had talked so much against the work. But he was not thinking of himself, so that made a vast difference.

He found the scouts at Headquarters, for school was out, and this was their regular afternoon of meeting. They were awaiting his coming with eagerness, as they, too, had seen the notice in the store. But they knew the captain's views on the matter, and, therefore, had serious doubts about speaking to him in reference to the drift-logs.

"h.e.l.lo, boys," was his cheery greeting, as he seated himself upon a block of wood before the door. "How's business?"

"Not very good," Rod replied. "But we have a plan for making more money."

"Yez have, eh? Well, that's interestin'. What is it?"