Ruth Fielding Down in Dixie Part 25

"With all this water around, it's too bad if we can't put a fire out."

The fire was illuminating all the vicinity now, for the flames had burst through the roof. The whole of one end of the cottage was in a blaze, and the wall of the hotel nearest to it was blistering in the heat.

The hotel proprietor stood there with his helpers watching the blaze.

But the girls watched the approaching boat, its situation revealed by the bobbing lantern.

"If that is Mr. Jimson," said Helen, "I hope he can take us back across the river."

"And he shall if it's safe," Nettie said, with confidence. "But my! the water's rough."

"Oh, Miss Nettie! Miss Nettie!" groaned Norma. "Yo' ain' gwine t' vencha on dat awful ribber, is yo'?"

"Why not, you ridiculous creature?" demanded her mistress. "If you are afraid to stay here, and afraid to go in the boat, what _will_ you do?"

"Wait till it dries up!" wailed the darkey maid. "Den we kin walk home, dry-shod-ya-as'm!"

"Wait for the river to dry up, and all?" chuckled Helen.

"That's what she wants," said Nettie. "I never saw such a foolish girl."

The bobbing lantern came nearer. Just as it reached the edge of the submerged island, there arose a shout from the men aboard of her. Then sounded a mighty crash.

"Hol' on, boys! hol' on!" arose the voice of Mr. Jimson. "Don't lose yo'

grip! _Pull!_"

But the negroes could not pull the water-logged boat. She had struck a snag which ripped a hole in her bottom, and had been rammed by a log at the same time. The bateau was a wreck in a few seconds.

The six members of the crew, including the boss and Curly Smith, leaped overboard as the bateau sank. They had brought the boat so far, after a terrific fight with the current, only to sink her not twenty yards from the front steps of the hotel!

"Throw us a line-or a life-buoy!" yelled Jimson. "This yere river is tearin' at us like a pack o' wolves. Ain't yo' folks up there got no heart?"

One of the negroes uttered a wild yell and went whirling away down stream, clinging to a timber that floated by. Two others managed to climb into the low branches of a tree.

But Jimson, the fourth negro, and Curly Smith struck out for the hotel.

After all, Curly was the best swimmer. Jimson would have been carried past the end of the hotel and down the current, had not the Northern boy caught him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to the steps.

There he left the panting boss and plunged in again to bring the negro to the surface. This fellow could not swim much, and was badly frightened. The instant he felt Curly grab him, he turned to wind his arms about the boy.

The lights burning on the hotel porch showed all this to the girls. Ruth and Helen, already wet half-way to their knees, had ventured out on the porch again in their excitement. Ruth screamed when she saw the danger Curly was in.

The boy had helped save Mr. Jimson; but the negro and he were being swept right past the hotel porch. They must both sink and be drowned if somebody did not help them-and no man was at hand.

"Take my hand, Helen!" commanded Ruth. "Maybe I can reach them. Scream for help-do!" and she leaned out from the end of the veranda, while her chum clung tightly to her left wrist.

The boy and the negro came near. The water eddied about the porch-end and held them in its grasp for a moment.

It was then that Ruth stooped lower and secured a grip upon the black man's sleeve. She held on grimly while her chum shrieked for help.

Jimson came staggering along to their aid.

"Hold on t' him, Miss Ruth!" he cried. "We'll git him!"

But if it had depended upon the spent warehouse boss to rescue the boy and his burden, they would never have been saved. Two of the men at the other end of the porch finally heard Helen and Nettie and came to help.

"Haul that negro in," said one, laughing. "Is he worth saving, Jimson?"

"I 'spect so," gasped the boss of the cotton warehouse. "But I know well that that white boy is. My old woman sho' wouldn't ha' seen _me_ ag'in if it hadn't been fo' Curly. I was jes' about all in."

So was Curly, as the girls could see. When the boy was dragged out upon the porch floor, and lay on his back in the shallow water, he could neither move nor speak. The men tried to raise him to his feet, but his left leg doubled under him.

It was Ruth who discovered what was the matter. "Bring him inside. Lay him on a couch. Don't you see that the poor boy has broken his leg?" she demanded.

CHAPTER XXI-THE NEXT MORNING

The fire was now at its height, and many of the men were fighting the flames as they leaped across from the burning cottage. Therefore, not many had been called to the help of the refugees from the wrecked bateau.

"I'll be whip-sawed!" complained Jimson. "Foolin' with their blamed old bonfire, they might ha' let me an' my negroes drown. This yere little Yankee boy is wuth the whole bilin' of 'em."

They carried Curly, who was quite unconscious now, into the house. On a couch in the office Ruth fixed a pillow, and straightened out his injured leg.

"Isn't there a doctor? Somebody who knows something about setting the leg?" she demanded. "If it can only be set now, while he is unconscious, he will be saved just so much extra pain."

"Let me find somebody!" cried Nettie, who knew almost everybody in the hotel party.

She ran out upon the veranda, forgetting her slippers and silk hose for the moment, and soon came back with one of the men who had been helping to throw water against the side of the building.

"This is Dr. Coombs. I know he can help you, Ruth-and he will."

"Boy with broken leg, heh?" said the gentleman, briefly. "Is that all the damage?" and he began to examine the unconscious Curly. "Now, you're a cool-headed young lady," he said to Ruth; "you and Jimson can give me a hand. Send the others out of the room. We're going to be mighty busy here for a few minutes."

He saw that Ruth was calm and quick. He had her get water and bandages.

Mr. Jimson whittled out splints as directed. The doctor was really a veterinary surgeon, but when the setting of the broken limb was accomplished, Curly might have thanked Dr. Coombs for a very neat and workmanlike piece of work. But poor Curly remained unconscious for some time thereafter.

The flames were under control and the danger of the hotel's catching fire was past before the boy opened his eyes. He opened them to see Ruth sitting at the foot of the couch on which he lay.

"Old Scratch!" exclaimed Curly, "don't tell Gran, Ruth Fielding. If you do, she'll give me whatever for busting my leg. Ooo! don't it hurt."

He had forgotten for the moment that he had ever left Lumberton, and Ruth soothed him as best she could.

The bustle and confusion around the hotel had somewhat subsided. The regular guests had retired to their rooms, for it was past midnight now.

The water was creeping higher and higher, and now began to run in over the floor of the lower story.

By Ruth's advice, Helen and Nettie had gone up to their rooms. They had allowed Mrs. Holloway to put two young ladies in one of the beds there, for the hotel keeper had to house many more than the usual number of people.

Ruth alone stayed with Mr. Jimson to watch Curly. And when the water began to rise she insisted that the couch be lifted upon the shoulders of four powerful negroes, and carried upstairs.