The Camp in the Snow Part 10

"Poor fellow," he added. "Nothing can be done to help him. The water is deep, and he must have been carried far under the ice. Where is the catamount--the author of all the mischief?"

This was a heartless question, and the boys were too indignant to reply.

At such a moment they would have cared little for a dozen catamounts.

"Oh! oh!" moaned Hamp. "Poor Jerry! What shall we do? What shall we do?"

So complete and hopeless was their despair that what followed seemed at first like a dream. They heard a crackling sound, and then a plaintive cry. It was really Jerry's voice, calling faintly for help from a distance.

Brick was the first to notice a dark blot some twenty feet out on the ice. He rushed toward it with a yell of delight, followed by Hamp and the stranger.

The dark blot was Jerry's head and shoulders. The rim of broken ice fitted close to his armpits, and his outstretched hands were clutching at the glossy surface.

"Help! help!" he cried, in a weak and quavering voice. "I'm going under again, fellows."

"No, you ain't," shouted Hamp. "We'll save you. Hold on a minute."

"Don't go too near by yourself," warned Jerry. "The ice will break."

"That's so," cried Brick, giving one hand to Hamp. The stranger, in turn, took hold of Brick, and thus a triply-strong line was formed. Hamp went forward on his knees until he was able to grasp one of Jerry's hands.

All pulled together. It was a time of terrible suspense. Twice Jerry was almost out of water, and twice the edge of the ice crumbled, letting him slip back.

Fortunately Hamp did not break through. He bravely withstood the strain, and, at last, a mighty effort pulled Jerry out beside him, and he was dragged to a place of safety.

Hamp rubbed his arm.

"I thought the muscles were going to crack," he said. "It was an awful strain. But I would have lost both arms sooner than see you drown, Jerry."

"Better get the lad back to the campfire at once," suggested the stranger.

This was good advice, for Jerry was simply speechless with cold. His face and hands were blue, and he shivered like a leaf as he stood with dripping clothes.

Hamp and Brick took Jerry between them, and away they sped for camp. The stranger followed, and he was close behind the others when they reached the fire. The boys now saw him clearly, for the first time, as he stood in the light of the flames.

The man was about thirty years old, with brown hair and a slight, yellowish mustache. His face was good-humored and rather prepossessing.

He wore gray trousers, and a short, but heavy, overcoat was b.u.t.toned up to his throat.

"You've got dry clothes for the lad?" he asked.

"Yes; each of us has an extra suit," replied Hamp.

He and Brick bustled in and out of the cabin, and in a brief time they had Jerry attired in dry garments. His lips were still blue, and he shivered as though he had a chill. The boys wrapped him in blankets, and made him sit close up to the fire. Then they heaped on quant.i.ties of wood, until the roaring flames were leaping high.

The stranger took a small flask from his pocket and wrenched a metal cup from the end. Into the latter he poured a few drops of a reddish liquor.

"Drink this, lad," he said, handing the cup to Jerry, who drained it hastily and made a wry face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Brandy, and prime stuff, at that. It's thirty years old."

Jerry shivered to think what the stuff would have tasted like had it been twice as old.

It was just what he needed, however, and in a short time the shivering ceased, and the color came back to his cheeks.

"How do you feel now?" asked Hamp.

"Splendid. It's awfully snug and warm under these blankets. I'll bet you fellows were scared when I went through the ice."

"Well, I should say so," replied Brick. "We never expected to see you again. How did you get to that hole, anyhow?"

"It was presence of mind did that," declared Jerry. "You see, as soon as I broke through, a sort of an under-current sucked me deep down and to one side. I opened my eyes and began to swim. I came up with a b.u.mp, and then I knew I was clear under the ice. I saw a gray streak away off in front of me. I knew it must be the light shining through an air-hole, and swam for it. Then I went up head first, and you fellows know the rest. My rifle is at the bottom of the lake, though."

"We've got guns enough without it," replied Hamp. "Don't worry about that. You can be mighty glad that you're not beside the rifle, Jerry."

"It was, indeed, a most marvelous escape," said the stranger. "Had this brave lad been drowned, I should have put the blame upon myself. It was to save me from the catamount that you lads ventured out on the lake."

"I only wish we had killed the brute," grumbled Jerry.

"Yes, it is unfortunate that he got away," admitted the stranger. "But I forget that I have not yet introduced myself. I hope you will overlook my carelessness. My name is Silas Raikes, and I hail from Portland, Maine. I am camping a mile or two from here with a friend. His name is Joe Bogle, and he belongs in Augusta. We are out on a little prospecting expedition."

The boys nodded.

"Some hours ago we were attacked by wolves, but managed to drive them off. When we heard shots a little later, we knew that there must be other campers near by, and that they were in peril. So I left Joe to guard camp, and came to your a.s.sistance. But, as it so happened, the tables were turned, and I was the one to need help. My rifle was useless from a fall in the snow, and the catamount very nearly captured me."

"Then we are square all round," said Brick, laughingly. "We're much obliged to you for your good intentions, all the same. If you had come a little sooner, you would have seen some lively times."

He went on to describe in a graphic manner the thrilling events of the night. Mr. Raikes took a keen interest in the tale, and overwhelmed the boys with praise.

"I should be glad to know such brave lads more intimately," he said.

"Let me see. Have I forgotten your names already?"

"I guess you never knew them," replied Hamp, with outspoken candor. "My name is Foster, and over there is Jerry Brenton. We are both from Bangor. This fellow is Brick Larkins, and he lives in New York."

"Jim Larkins," corrected Brick, with a roguish look at Hamp.

"Larkins, Larkins," repeated Mr. Raikes, as he thoughtfully rubbed his forehead. "Where have I heard that name? Ah, yes. Surely you are no relative of John Larkins, the wealthy contractor of Lexington avenue, New York?"

"His son, that's all," replied Brick. "Do you know him?"

"I have met him in a business way. And so you are his son? Well, I am glad to make your acquaintance. Your object is hunting, I presume?"

"We started out with that intention," replied Brick, "but so far the wolves and the catamounts and the deer have been hunting us."

The boys laughed, and Mr. Raikes joined in heartily. He took a cigar from Ins pocket and lighted it with a glowing ember.