CHAPTER XIIIOVER THE CLIFF
Ned's last injunction was quite unnecessary. The loud outcry of the dog had already roused the family.
Heads were poked from two or three windows, and a shrill feminine voice was shouting: "Get the gun, pap, get the gun!"
Meanwhile Clay continued to call for help at the top of his voice, finally drowning out the ferocious barking of the dog, and after what seemed an interminable length of time the door of the house opened and the farmer appeared on the threshold, attired in shirt and trousers.
He had a gun in one hand and a candle in the other. Behind him were two good sized lads armed with clubs, while the flutter of a petticoat was visible on the stairway.
"Hurry! hurry!" cried Clay. "There's some one down the well."
The farmer crossed the yard with provoking calmness, holding his gun ready for use.
"Why, it's only a boy!" he exclaimed, on catching sight of Clay. "What are you doing here, you young rascal?"
"Don't stop to ask questions now," implored Clay. "Get my friend out of the well, or he will be drowned."
The farmer uttered an exclamation, and peeped through the broken boards. Then he seized the bucket that was suspended by a windlass over the well and quickly lowered it.
"Catch hold down there," he shouted gruffly.
"All right, go ahead," came the sepulchral response, a moment later.
The farmer and his two sons threw their weight on the handle of the windlass, and after considerable creaking and groaning Ned was brought to the surface and helped out on the ground. His face and hands were blue and his teeth chattered violently.
"Bring the poor fellow right in," called the farmer's wife from the porch, where she had witnessed the whole affair. "I'll go light the fire."
"The rascal don't deserve it," muttered the farmer, but nevertheless he led the boys into the house, and thence to a large room containing a stove, a table, a huge settee and half a dozen chairs. A lamp was burning on the mantel, and a pleasant faced old lady was bustling about the stove.
Ned's wet clothes were quickly stripped off, and he was rolled in blankets and made to lie down on the settee. Presently the old lady brought him a bowl of steaming camomile tea, and after he had swallowed most of the nauseous mixture he began to feel quite himself again. Then, seeing that the farmer was suspiciousand anxious for an explanation, he insisted on talking, and related the whole story in such a clear and concise manner that his hearers were thoroughly convinced.
The farmer thawed out, and showed himself in his true colors—a genial, kind-hearted old man. He told the boys his name was Adam Plunkett, and laughingly apologized for mistaking them for thieves.
When Mrs. Plunkett heard that they had eaten nothing since breakfast she immediately began to set the table—in spite of the fact that it was then half past ten o'clock. Ned refused to be treated as an invalid any longer, so Mr. Plunkett gave him a suit of clothes to wear while his own were drying.
The food was soon ready, and the famished boys did it full justice.
"I reckon you'll want to go to bed now," said Mr. Plunkett; "you must be worn out after all that tramp. In the morning I'll tell you how to find your camp. I recognize the place from your description. It's about five miles and a half from here by road, and a good bit further by the creek."
The boys gasped with amazement. It was hard to realize that they had strayed so far out of their way.
"I'm afraid our companions will be greatly worried," said Ned. "That's all I'm thinking about."
"A little worry won't hurt 'em," asserted Mr. Plunkett cheerfully. "It'll do 'em good, and make them more glad to see you in the morning."
This bit of philosophy had its effect on the boys, andthe last trace of anxiety vanished when their host conducted them to the room they were to occupy. It was the typical country "spare bed-chamber." Home spun carpet covered the floor, and on the walls were cardboard mottoes in walnut frames, a sampler yellow with age, and portraits of George and Martha Washington. The bed was a huge four poster, and stood so high that the boys had to give a spring in order to climb in.
They fell asleep almost instantly, and found it difficult to get up in the morning when the farmer banged on the door with his heavy fist.
Mrs. Plunkett had a delicious breakfast ready when the boys came down stairs, and after they had eaten their fill the farmer carefully instructed them how to reach their camp—or rather how to reach a certain point on the creek which was less than a quarter of a mile above the rapids.
The boys had read the character of their hosts sufficiently well to know that it would be regarded as an insult if they should offer them money. So they thanked them profusely for their generous treatment, and said "good-by," promising to stop if they ever chanced to be in that vicinity again.
After a good sleep and a good breakfast the five mile walk was a trifle to the boys. They had no difficulty in following the directions, and about half past ten o'clock they turned aside from the road and entered a piece of woods.
Ten minutes later they stood on the bank of thecreek, listening to the familiar sound of the rapids below them. The steep hill began at this point, making it impossible to follow the shore, so they began the ascent and reached the crest after a pretty stiff climb. The camp was now directly opposite, though entirely concealed by the huge shellbark trees.
"Let's give them the yell," said Ned. He placed his hand to his mouth and uttered a regular Indian war whoop that woke the echoes for a long distance. Clay did the same, and they both stopped to listen.
A minute went by in silence, and then another. No glad shout of welcome rang out from the trees. No graceful canoe parted the fringe of bushes that concealed the mouth of the run.
What was the matter? Were the boys sleeping so soundly that the signal could not rouse them? This seemed the only possible explanation, so Clay and Ned shouted more vigorously than ever, and kept it up until they were hoarse.
Not a sound came back. The silence of the morning was absolutely unbroken.
The boys looked at each other with pale and frightened faces. They dared not even whisper the terrible thoughts that were in their minds. Then, by tacit consent, they scrambled down the ragged face of the hill, and at great peril to life and limb gained the bottom in three or four minutes.
They partly undressed to wade to the gravel bar, for the water was more than waist deep. Here they stopped a moment to put on their clothes, and then,with trousers rolled high up, they waded to the mouth of the stream, and pushed eagerly through the screen of bushes.
The scene that met their gaze filled them with dread and amazement.The glade was deserted. Every vestige of the camp had disappeared.
For a moment the boys could scarcely believe the evidence of their own eyes. They hurried forward and inspected every foot of the ground.
Absolutely nothing had been left behind. The downtrodden grass, where the tent had stood, was the only evidence to show that a camp had recently been here.
"This is a bigger mystery than I can see through," said Ned as he bent over the blackened stones of the fireplace. "The boys must have left here some time yesterday, for these ashes are cold. It looks as though they had to leave in a hurry, too, for if they had any time to spare they would surely have placed a message where we could see it. I have examined all the trees and bushes, and there is no sign of any."
"It's a bad business," replied Clay. "The boys would not have broken camp without some cause. I only hope that Bug Batters and his companions had nothing to do with it."
The same fear was in Ned's mind just then, and it was very natural that it should be. How else could the disappearance of the boys be accounted for?
"We can't tell anything about it," he answered evasively, "and it would be very foolish to jump atthe worst conclusions. It will be our best plan to start down the creek at once, and I have no doubt we'll find the camp before very long. It's not at all likely the boys have moved far away."
"But they may have concealed themselves somewhere," said Clay, "and besides we don't know which bank they are on."
"We'll keep a sharp lookout on both sides," replied Ned. "If we shout every now and then I don't think we can miss them. We had better start right away. I'm getting tired of wandering about the country in this fashion. It will feel awfully good to climb in a canoe again."
Clay warmly assented to this, and after a last lingering glance at the shady thickets and the eddying surface of the pool, the boys plodded off through the woods.
For a time they experienced no difficulty in following the edge of the creek, and thus scrutinizing the opposite shore as well as the one they were on. Occasionally they shouted; first at rare intervals, then more frequently as they advanced farther along the creek.
At the expiration of an hour and a half they had traveled three or four miles, and rounded a couple of large bends without getting any response to their calls, or finding the least trace of the missing boys.
Then a precipitous hill blocked the way, extending a considerable distance along the creek, and leadingsheer to the water from a variable height of forty to sixty feet.
"No use in going around it, Ned. We'll follow the crest so we can watch the opposite shore."
They easily gained the summit, and found a sort of open path between the edge of the thick pine forest and the verge of the cliff. It was half a dozen feet wide and had quite a downward slope. There was quite an element of danger connected with the ascent, since it was slippery with a coating of pine needles. The boys did not think of this, however. Of course they kept close to the trees, but as their gaze was fixed on the opposite shore, which was in plain view far below them, they could not pick out their footing as carefully as they should have done.
Pine needles are treacherous things, even on level ground, and when Clay happened to step on a particularly thick bunch his foot slipped and he was thrown quickly on his side. Before he could realize his danger he slid to the verge of the precipice—where there was nothing to stop him—and vanished from sight.
Ned was horror stricken, and had to clutch the nearest tree for support. Half a dozen seconds passed, but the splash that he dreaded to hear did not come. Then he made his way cautiously to a rock that jutted from the cliff half a dozen-feet from where Clay had fallen. Ned threw himself flat on his breast and peered down.
Clay was twenty feet below him clinging to a bunch of stout bushes that grew in a crevice of the cliff. Hisfeet rested on a tiny ledge no more than six inches wide, and below him was a clear drop of thirty feet to the dark surface of the creek.
Ned realized his utter inability to render aid, and his agony found vent in a sharp cry.
Clay turned a white, pitiful face upward.
"You can't help me," he gasped hoarsely. "The bushes are tearing loose. If the water is deep I stand a chance. Try to get—"
His feeble voice was smothered by a sharp ripping noise, and the next instant he plunged downward, attended by a shower of dirt and stones.
CHAPTER XIIIWHAT CLAY SHOT
We must now take the reader back to the previous morning, and see what befell Randy and Nugget after their companions had started for West Hill. Nugget amused himself until dinner time by fishing at the mouth of the run, and caught a number of sunfish and chubs.
When he returned Randy had just finished entering the events of the cruise in the log book. Then they started in to get dinner, and Randy proved himself no novice in culinary affairs by frying a delicious panful of fish and boiling some excellent coffee.
The distasteful work of washing the dishes was duly performed, and then they began to consider what they should do next. Randy wanted to go away up the stream for trout, but Nugget was unwilling to trust himself in the woods after his experience of the previous evening, and was equally determined not to remain alone in camp.
This obstinate conduct roused Randy's temper, and indications pointed a lively quarrel.
"I never saw such a coward," he exclaimed angrily. "You're a nice fellow to go on a canoe trip, I must say."
"I'm not a coward," returned Nugget hotly. "I'm not afraid of you, anyhow, and if you call me any more names I'll show you something."
Randy laughed scornfully, and was about to make a bitter reply when a trampling noise was heard in the woods behind the tent, followed by a violent agitation of the bushes. A few seconds later a big brindle cow appeared on the scene, followed by a small boy shouting "Hi! hi!" at the top of his voice.
The cow was evidently in no mood to listen to argument; she pranced at the tent with lowered horns, knocked it flat, and trampled with dirty hoofs over the clean canvas.
Then she rushed at Nugget with a vicious bellow, and after pursuing him a few yards in the direction of the creek, she suddenly changed her mind, and charged on Randy and the small boy, who were standing by the edge of the pool. The latter escaped by dodging nimbly to one side, but Randy was not agile enough, and as the cow brushed by him her revolving tail lashed him smartly over the face, and tumbled him into the pool.
He emerged dripping wet, and mad as a hornet, just in time to see the cow retreating in the direction she had come, with the small boy in pursuit.
"Look here," cried Randy, "what do you mean by letting a vicious animal like that run loose? Look atthat tent, and look at the condition I'm in. For half a cent I'd get my gun and shoot the brute."
The boy stopped at the edge of the bushes and looked back. He was quite a little fellow, with sunburned legs and face.
"That cow has more right here than you-uns," he said sullenly. "My uncle Dan owns this land. He knows you-uns are here, and he's comin' down pretty soon, too. He says you-uns will be sorry you shot that calf afore he gits done with you."
Randy stared at the lad in amazement, and then a sudden light broke on his mind.
"That explains the bear story," he muttered, and then added to Nugget, who had just ventured to come forward: "You fellows have got us in a pretty mess. It was a calf that Clay shot last night. I'm glad it's not my fault this time."
"A calf!" exclaimed Nugget. "I don't see how it can be possible. It had shiny eyes."
"The calf was shot, anyhow," said the boy. "It got astray yesterday afternoon, and our hired man found it this morning. It ain't hurt very bad, an Uncle Dan thinks it'll get well. That's the reason the cow is so cross, 'cause she can't have the calf with her. She broke the fence down this morning an' got into the woods. I'll have a hard time gittin' her home again."
"You say your uncle is cross about the calf?" asked Randy.
"He's hoppin' mad," said the boy. "He's going togive you all a lickin', an' then hev you locked up for trespassin'."
"But suppose we explain to him that it was all a mistake, and offer to pay the damages," continued Randy, "wouldn't that satisfy him?"
The boy shook his head.
"Uncle Dan ain't that kind. When he gets mad nobody kin stop him, I reckon he'll lick you chaps pretty hard."
"I reckon he won't," said Randy, decisively. "Not if we know ourselves. Pitch in and help, Nugget; we must light out of this as quick as possible."
Nugget was only too willing to lend his aid, and the tent was speedily rolled up, and deposited in the cockpit of the Pioneer, where it belonged.
"Uncle Dan may be here any minute," said the boy. "You-uns had better wait."
"Say, you'd like to see us licked, wouldn't you?" inquired Randy. "I'm sorry we can't oblige you by staying. Here is a dollar for your uncle to square up the damage to the calf. Just say to him that it was a mistake, and that he needn't come after us, because we are going straight through to Harrisburg."
The lad pocketed the money, and after looking on for a little while in silence he went away to hunt the refractory cow.
The boys worked with feverish energy—not forgetting to keep a sharp eye on the woods—and in scarcely more time than it takes to tell everything was in the canoes.
"It goes hard to leave here," said Randy, "but it can't be helped. It would be a nice ending to the canoe trip if we got locked up for trespassing. I hope the dollar will satisfy that man."
"What are we going to do about Ned and Clay?" asked Nugget.
"I'll attend to that," replied Randy, as he stepped into the Water Sprite and tied its stern to the bow of the Pioneer.
The other two canoes were arranged in the same way, and then the boys paddled quickly out of the stream.
They first crossed to the other side of the creek, where Randy wrote a short explanatory note for Ned and Clay, instructing them to follow the creek down about three or four miles.
"It won't be safe for us to stop short of that distance," he remarked as he pinned the big white document to a tree at the base of the hill.
"The boys can't miss this when they come down to the water. They ought to be here in about two hours."
Having arranged their means of communication, Randy climbed back into the canoe, and led the way down stream. Progress was necessarily tedious, since the current was sluggish, and each had an additional canoe in tow. They felt more at ease when they had passed round the first bend, and after paddling for two or three miles—as nearly as could be judged—they began to search for a good camping place.
They did not find one that suited their requirements for some time, but finally, while drifting along the base of a precipitous cliff, they came to a good sized cleft or hollow. It was half a dozen yards wide. It sloped gradually upward, narrowing as it went, until it terminated in a ravine which seemed to continue on to the top of the hill.
The beach was hard and stony ground, with a few stunted bushes, but there was ample room for a tent, and moreover on each side was a sheer wall of rock towering forty feet in the air.
The boys landed, and with much difficulty dragged the canoes out of the water.
"This place just suits us," said Randy. "There is no danger of the farmer finding us here, if weareon his side of the creek. And we need not be afraid to keep a fire going, because these rocks will shut out the light."
It was now half past four o'clock, and when the tent had been pitched—a difficult piece of work for two persons—and the canoes unloaded, the boys began to prepare a good supper in readiness for Ned and Clay.
Six o'clock came, and then seven, but the anxiously expected ones did not appear on the other side of the creek.
Randy and Nugget were too hungry to wait any longer, so they ate their supper by twilight. When it grew a little darker they built a roaring fire at the edge of the water. There was an abundance of driftwoodfarther up the slope, which had been left there at various times by the high water.
When nine o'clock came the boys were seriously alarmed, and all sorts of dreadful possibilities occurred to them. They found it impossible to sleep, and all through the long hours of that night they sat about the fire, constantly piling on wood, and keeping a huge blaze going to guide the missing ones to the camp.
The first glimmer of dawn found them worn out by sleeplessness and despair. It was impossible to maintain their vigil any longer, so they stuck the pennant in the sand close to the edge of the water, and crawling into the tent, went to sleep side by side.
A cannon shot could hardly have wakened them then. The sun rose higher and higher until its direct rays beat fiercely down upon the tent from a cloudless sky above, but still they slumbered on.
The heat finally became intolerable, and Randy turned drowsily over and opened his eyes. As he sat up with an effort, struggling to clear his mind, he heard a tremendous splash, and then a loud, shrill cry.
He was thoroughly awake now, and jerking Nugget to an upright position, he turned and ran out of the tent. He gained the shore and looked up stream.
A thick mass of bushes was drifting leisurely along the base of the cliff a dozen feet above, and something behind it—as yet invisible—was making a great commotion in the water.
Then a head appeared, and a pair of strugglingarms, and to his joy and amazement Randy recognized Clay. The lad's strength barely sufficed to reach the shore, and Randy helped him out on land just as Nugget came running from the tent.
Clay staggered up the slope and dropped down in the bushes.
"I fell off the cliff," he stammered with chattering teeth. "Ned is up there; call to him."
Randy and Nugget shouted with all their might, and a reply was heard instantly. Then Ned appeared far up on the cliff and waved his hand. He vanished at once, and a moment later came impetuously down the ravine, leaping rocks and bushes in his haste.
His face was paler than the boys had ever seen it, and tears stood in his eyes. He hurriedly clasped hands with Randy and Nugget, and approached Clay.
"Are you hurt, old fellow?" he asked huskily. "That was a wonderful escape. I thought it was all up with you."
Clay smiled faintly.
"I'll be all right in a little while. I'm suffering from the shock, that's all. I don't think there is a bruise on me."
A fire was quickly made, while Ned explained to his companions the catastrophe that had happened on the cliff. Then Clay was stripped and rubbed down with a coarse towel, and after his dry clothes were on he declared he felt as well as ever.
A good dinner was prepared, and when all were seated around the flat rock that served for a table, Nedproduced the packet of letters and gave a minute account of the wanderings and adventures which it had cost to obtain them. The story of Randy's cake provoked much laughter, and Randy assured Ned that he had done the proper thing under the circumstances.
Then the other side of the story was told, and listened to with even greater interest. Clay was chaffed unmercifully about the calf, and Nugget also came in for a goodly share of ridicule.
The failure of the boys to find Randy's letter was a mystery at first, but Ned finally suggested that it had been blown into the water, which was no doubt the case.
CHAPTER XIVCAUGHT IN THE WHIRLPOOL
About three o'clock the boys broke camp. They were now thoroughly rested, and eager to be on the water again. Moreover the cleft among the rocks—though admirably adapted for a hiding place—had none of the qualifications which a good camping site should possess.
A paddle of two miles brought the party to Tanner's Dam, and when they had carried the canoes around and embarked on the lower side they passed the mouth of the real Otter Run. This enabled Ned to fix their bearings definitely on the map, and he resolved to keep close track of the topography of the creek in the future.
About six o'clock a beautiful place to camp was found on the left shore of the creek; shade was abundant, and the soil was level and grassy. A few yards up the beach a spring bubbled and spurted from a nest of rocks.
As the boys landed a flock of wild ducks flew up with a great splashing, and winged their way down the creek. Along the opposite shore, which was flat and marshy, yellow-legged snipe were running to and fro, a couple of gray herons standing contentedly onone leg, were gobbling minnows from the shallow pools.
This was now Thursday evening. It would be a week on the morrow since the Jolly Rovers had started on their cruise. They were so pleased with the location of the camp, and the opportunities it seemed to offer that they concluded to remain for a while, and here they spent Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday.
The keen and peaceful enjoyments of those four days were in vivid contrast to the turbulent, adventurous life the boys had led during the past week. They looked back upon it afterward as the brightest period of their cruise.
Sunday was spent quietly in camp, but the remainder of the time was filled up with all sorts of occupations. Randy shot numerous snipe and woodcock. Clay and Nugget gave their attention to fishing, and caught altogether some thirty or forty large bass—not counting the trout which they snared in a neighboring brook.
Ned found his keenest enjoyment in wandering over the country from farmhouse to farmhouse and bringing back tempting supplies. He was a born forager, and well understood the art of making bargains with the farmers.
The boys lived on the fat of the land, and at very slight cost. The diet of fish and game was constantly varied by green corn, new potatoes, sometimes peaches or melons, and occasionally a plump duck or chicken.Only on one day did it rain, and this merely served to make the fish bite better.
But each and every one of the Jolly Rovers had the true instinct of the canoeist, and when Monday's sun dropped redly behind the hills they were eager to start afresh on their wanderings. Their arms tingled to grasp the paddle and drive the graceful canoe over the blue water; they longed to explore the great unknown territory that lay in front of them, to seek new camping grounds and new adventures.
At eight o'clock on Tuesday morning the crimson and gold pennant stood stiffly against the breeze as it led the little fleet from the spot where so many happy hours had been spent.
It was a glorious day—a day when all living things should have been happy. So it seemed to the boys as they paddled lazily down mid-channel with the slanting sunbeams on their bronzed and radiant faces.
But the business of life went on just the same around them. The hungry bass with his piratical black fin just cutting the surface, scattered the shoals of minnows, and sadly lessened their numbers. The kingfisher scooped occasionally from his perch to return with a shining morsel, and the gray heron stalked among the pools like a duck on stilts, searching the muddy bottom for tender young frogs.
Back in the forest the crows and the blue jays were waging a bitter squallish conflict, and here and there weary toilers among the yellow grain dropped their scythes to watch the canoes drifting by.
But the problem of life cast no shadow on the Jolly Rovers, and they paddled on contentedly, finding something new to admire every few minutes.
Nugget was more than usually happy that morning. The past few days had taught him the bright side of canoeing, and he fondly hoped to find the future just as smooth and free from snags.
He was dipping his paddle from side to side in a leisurely way when his eyes chanced to rest on the bottom of the cockpit. Right between his knees was a flat little head with two bead-like eyes and a red tongue that darted quickly in and out. Attached to the head was a long gracefully coiled body, mottled like the skin of a brook trout.
The yell that burst from Nugget's lips would have done credit to a Sioux warrior. It scared the snake half out of its wits, and the reptile wriggled under the bottom board.
"Help! Murder! Snakes!" roared Nugget, partly rising and clutching the combing with both hands. "Help me, help me! I'll be bitten. I'll die."
"Where is it?" cried Ned, paddling alongside.
"Stamp on it," shouted Randy. "Throw it out and I'll shoot it."
Nugget only yelled the more and shook the canoe so violently by his antics that it threatened to tip over.
"Be careful," Ned warned him. "You will upset. Paddle to shore and we'll take the snake out for you."
"I can't, I can't," shrieked Nugget. "My paddle fell overboard. There it goes."
Ned and Clay started simultaneously for the drifting paddle, but they had hardly taken a dozen strokes when the snake thrust his head out of a crevice in the bottom boards.
This proved too much for Nugget. Uttering yell after yell he sprang to his feet and tried to climb out on the foredeck of the canoe. The Imp refused to stand such treatment, and tipped over instantly, throwing Nugget head first into the water.
Fortunately the creek was shallow at this point, and after going under a couple of times, and swallowing a quantity of water—owing to his persistent yelling—Nugget gained a foothold without the aid of his friends, and waded shoulder deep for the nearest shore.
Amid all the confusion the snake escaped in some manner from the overturned canoe, and swam rapidly down stream. Ned and Clay went in pursuit, but the reptile was too swift for them, and safely gained a patch of reeds.
The Imp was quickly righted and towed to shore. The contents were little damaged, and Nugget made haste to change his clothes.
"I'd like to know how that snake got in my canoe," he said angrily. "It was a beastly mean trick."
"I don't believe it was a trick at all," exclaimed Ned laughingly. "The snake must have crawled in when the canoe was lying on shore, bottom up. It no doubt thought it had found a nice snug place to live."
"That's the way it happened, of course," saidRandy. "No one would have been mean enough to put it in on purpose."
Clay said nothing, but turned abruptly aside and began to busy himself with his canoe.
The delay was of brief duration, and the Jolly Rovers were soon afloat again. Nugget had stretched his wet clothes across the fore and rear deck of his canoe, so that the sun would quickly dry them.
About noon, while the boys were paddling through a deep and narrow part of the creek, Ned called attention to a bunch of ducks that were feeding in the reeds some distance down the right shore. All eyes were turned in that direction, and consequently no one happened to glance toward the opposite bank.
Clay had fallen a little behind his companions, and was three or four yards to the left of them. He was drifting along with his gaze fixed on the ducks, when all at once his canoe began to twist and oscillate in a most alarming manner.
He turned quickly to see what was the matter, and the first glance sent a chill of fear to his heart. He was on the edge of a violently agitated patch of water that kept moving round and round in constantly narrowing circles until it ended in a funnel shaped aperture that went beneath the surface, and was itself whirling in dizzy revolutions.
Even as he looked his canoe drifted into the second circle, and mounted toward a great rock fifty or sixty feet high that rose straight from the water on the left shore.
Clay realized his situation instantly. He was caught in the whirlpool which some of the farmers had spoken about in a vague manner, as though they doubted its existence. There was no doubt about it now. The whirlpool was a stern reality, and he was fast in its embrace.
Without calling his companions, Clay tried to paddle away from the circling current. But to his horror and consternation the canoe was unmanageable. The violent paddle strokes simply made it swing around on its keel.
Then Clay became terribly frightened, and shouted for help. It was indeed high time. He had already drifted to the base of the rock where the whirlpool terminated, and was now swinging back toward the center of the creek.
The appeal for help—though its meaning was not comprehended at first—brought the other boys to Clay's assistance. That is to say they paddled toward the dangerous spot and were within an ace of getting in the same fix, when Clay frantically warned them back.
"Keep away! keep!" he shouted. "You must find some other way to help me."
Ned was the first to grasp the situation. During the last few days he had heard more than one tale about this dreaded whirlpool with its merciless undertow, and now it made him sick and faint to see Clay's peril, and yet be unable to devise a way of helping him.
For so it seemed then. It would be simple follyand madness for the others to trust themselves near the rapacious current; yet how else could help reach the imperiled lad?
The whirlpool was thirty feet in diameter, and while Randy and Nugget were looking on with white, scared faces, and Ned was vainly trying to plan a means of rescue, Clay was slowly drifting around the circle, coming nearer each time to the gurgling funnel in the center—and this in spite of the most strenuous paddling. Each stroke, in fact, only deflected the canoe sideways, as though it had no keel, and increased the risk of upsetting.
None realized the danger more than Clay himself and the horror of those few short minutes—they seemed more like hours—he never forgot.
It was not likely of course that the heavy canoe could be dragged clear under water; the whirlpool was no such gigantic thing as that. But it was absolutely certain that when the canoe reached the funnel shaped aperture in the center it would instantly be overturned, and just as surely Clay would be sucked into the black depths below, and whirled off by the fierce undercurrent with no possible chance of reaching the surface.
This was the awful fate that stared him in the face; and all that while he drifted nearer and nearer the end, crying vainly for help, and beating the frothy water with his paddle.
CHAPTER XVRANDY'S PROPOSITION
At the moment when Clay's situation seemed most hopeless—and while his horrified companions were looking on with the silence of despair—Nugget leaned forward in his canoe, opened the hatch, and drew out a big ball of cord.
"Ned! Ned!" he shouted eagerly, "can you do anything with this outline? I forgot I had it."
Ned's face flushed with joy, and paddling alongside of Nugget he snatched the cord.
"Follow me to the shore," he cried, "and you too, Randy."
An instant later the three lads were standing on the gravel beach, separated from the whirlpool by no less than sixty or seventy feet.
Ned waved his hand to Clay, and shouted hoarsely: "Fight hard, old fellow! We'll save you in a minute."
Then turning quickly to his companions he demanded: "How long is this line?"
"One hundred and forty feet," answered Nugget. "The man I bought it from, said so."
Ned tied the end of it to a ring in the stern of thePioneer, and ran down the beach, unrolling the ball as he went. Sixty feet away he stopped and cut the cord, then he hurried back with the remainder in his hand. He tied a short stick to the end of the ball, and throwing both into his canoe scrambled after them.
"Now you fellows keep tight hold of that," he directed, pointing to the cord that lay outstretched on the beach. "Pay it out as I go, and when I give the word pull with all your might."
Randy and Nugget began to understand now, and they allowed the line to trail through their fingers as Ned paddled furiously away, heading for a point a little above the whirlpool.
It was a critical and intensely exciting moment. Clay had divined what Ned intended to do, and with this gleam of hope to animate him, he was fighting desperately to keep away from the gurgling hollow which was slowly sucking him into its embrace.
There was scant time to spare when Ned ceased paddling a few feet above and to the right of the whirlpool, and allowed the canoe to drift down stream broadside. But he was wonderfully cool headed and self-possessed, as, with deft fingers he unwrapped the ball of cord and coiled it between his knees. Then he twisted one end about his left hand, and with the right seized the short, heavy stick.
He was now directly opposite Clay, and measuring the distance with a quick eye, he flung the stick straight out. It rose in the air, dragging the cord gracefully after it, and fell across the combing of Clay's canoe.
Ned uttered a sigh of relief, and Randy and Nugget cheered wildly from the shore.
But the danger was not over yet, though Clay had instantly seized the line. The canoe would upset at once if an attempt were made to drag it broadside out of the whirlpool.
Clay comprehended this, and he was quick witted enough to solve the problem. Though his canoe was now verging on the trough of the whirlpool, he calmly tied the line around one blade of his paddle and pressed this with all his might against the big screw eye that was set in the bow of the canoe.
"All right," he shouted hoarsely.
Ned turned and waved his hand to Randy and Nugget. They understood the signal, and instantly began to haul on the line.
The Pioneer moved slowly toward shore, and the next instant the strain reached Clay. It was concentrated in the right place, too, and after a couple of refractory tugs, as though the whirlpool was loath to surrender its victim, the Neptune headed about and slowly followed the Pioneer.
This was, if possible, a more exciting moment than any that had preceded it. So much depended on the two lines. If either broke disaster would follow.
But the cords did their duty nobly, and soon Clay was beyond the swirling circles. A few seconds later the Pioneer touched shore, and then three willing pairs of hands dragged the Neptune in so forcibly that a great wave rolled before the bow.
The boys had to help Clay out and prop him against a tree; and for nearly five minutes he sat there so white and helpless that they feared he would faint. A drink of water seemed to revive him some, and finally the color came back to his cheeks.
"I'm all right now," he said, as he got up and walked a few steps. "For a little while I felt like keeling over, and no wonder, after what I went through out there."
"It was a close call," asserted Ned. "Nugget didn't remember about that line a minute too soon. The credit of your rescue belongs to him."
"No it doesn't," said Nugget bashfully. "You did the work."
Clay looked from one to the other, and then held out his hand to Nugget.
"It was your outline and your suggestion," he said in a low voice. "You saved my life. Will you forgive me, old fellow? I put that snake in your canoe this morning, and am awfully sorry I did it."
Nugget hesitated an instant. Then he blushingly accepted the proffered hand and said:
"We'll let the matter drop, Clay. I know you won't do anything like that again."
"No, I won't," replied Clay earnestly. "I'm done with practical jokes. It was only a garter snake, though I caught it with a forked stick."
Ned and Randy had been at first inclined to pitch into Clay, but seeing that he was sincerely repentant they wisely concluded to ignore his fault, hoping thatthe lesson would really prove beneficial, and cure him of the fondness for playing tricks.
After a light lunch the Jolly Rovers started off again. They were anxious to get as far as possible from the whirlpool. During the early part of the afternoon they paddled and drifted by turns, for Clay was still a little weak from his experience.
Between three and four o'clock a bend of the creek brought into view an old wooden bridge. The piers were mossy and crumbling to ruins, and the roof and sides had been guiltless of paint for many a long year.
Just below the bridge the Creek widened to a kind of pool. At the foot of a ledge of rocks on the left shore sat three men holding long fishing poles. Their attention seemed to be given to a fourth man, who was sitting in a boat near by, talking earnestly, and pointing from time to time out on the creek.
A spring was visible a little above the fishermen, and as the boys happened to be thirsty they paddled over to it.
The canoes immediately became objects of interest, and a friendly conversation was started.
The man in the boat stepped out, and picked up Randy's gun.
"That's a purty nice weapon," he observed in a mournful voice. "It ain't unlike the one I lost, only mine was longer, and a leetle bit lighter. It was a muzzle loader, though, and this is one of them new fangled kind."
"How did you lose yours?" inquired Randy.
"It sunk out there," replied the man, pointing toward mid-channel. "I was driftin' along when I seen a muskrat in the reeds on t'other shore. I stood up to reach the gun, an' just as I got holt of it my foot slipped on a wet board, an' down I come. The weapon went overboard, an' that was the end of it. It riles me bad, 'cause that gun belonged to my old daddy."
"When did this happen?" asked Randy.
"'Bout half an hour ago; anyway not much mor'n that."
"But the gun surely isn't lost for good. Why don't you dive after it?"
The man thrust his hands into his pockets and stared blankly at Randy. The three fishermen smiled and nudged each other.
"Why don't you dive after it?" repeated Randy. "If you can tell me the exact location I'll get it for you."
"You will, will you?" exclaimed the man impressively. "Waal, I reckon you'd have a stiff contract. Did you fellows never hear of Rudy's Hole? Thar it lies right in front of you, and there ain't no bottom to it."
"Hold on, Mose Hocker," exclaimed one of the fishermen. "There must be bottom somewheres, of course, but it's mighty far down."
The boys looked at one another incredulously and smiled. The idea of a bottomless hole in the Conodoguinet was ridiculous.
At that moment an old man with bent back andwhite hair hobbled down the path from the road above, leaning heavily on his cane, which was his constant companion.
"Good afternoon, Daddy Perkiss," exclaimed Mose Hocker. "I'm glad you come along. I lost my gun out in the Hole a while ago, and this chap here offers to dive arter it. You've lived around these parts nigh onto eighty years. Tell him how fur down he'll have to go to reach that weapon."
"Ho! Ho!" cackled Daddy Perkiss, as he tremblingly sat down on a drift log, "the lad wants to dive in Rudy's Hole, does he? Well, let him try, let him try."
The old man was silent for a moment, and his bleary eyes had a far away expression as though they were looking into the dim past.
"It be sixty years since Jonas Rudy were drowned out here," he mumbled in a shrill voice, "an they ain't found the body to this day. I were away at the time, drivin' a teamster's wagon to Pittsburg, but I mind hearin' the story when I come home. Many a time I've heard tell how they tried to find bottom the next spring after Jonas was drowned.
"Mike Berry, the blacksmith over at Four Corners, brought his anvil, an' the men made the women folks give up their clotheslines. Then they went out on the hole in the old ferryboat, and let down the anvil. There was two hundred feet of line in all, an' when half of it were out the men lost their grip. The rest went like greased lightnin', an' the end got coiledaround Mike Berry's yaller dog, an' took it along. The poor beast never came up again."
Daddy Perkiss paused for sheer want of breath, and looked around to note the effect of his story.
"That yarn was started years ago," whispered Mose Hocker, coming close up to the boys, "an' Daddy has told it so many times that he believes every word. I reckon the most of it's true though. It would take more'n one clothesline to reach bottom out here."
"But has the place never been sounded?" asked Ned. "Have you never tried it yourself?"
Mose Hocker shook his head vigorously. "What would be the use?" he replied. "Nobody doubts it. Why, Rudy's Hole is known an' dreaded for miles around."
Evidently regarding this argument as a clincher he turned aside, and began to talk to Daddy Perkiss.
About this time Randy was doing a good deal of thinking. He had listened with incredulous interest to the old man's narrative, and knowing how prone country folk are to accept any fanciful story—especially a long standing tradition—without ever attempting to verify it, the conviction had forced itself upon his mind that Rudy's Hole was a myth—in other words that its depth was nothing extraordinary.
Randy was a good swimmer, but a far better diver. He was long winded, and his staying qualities under water had always been a source of admiration and envy to his companions.
It now occurred to him, with irresistible fascination,what a fine thing it would be to recover Mose Hooker's gun, and show these people what a delusion they had been laboring under all their lives.
It took Randy but a short time to make up his mind, and walking over to Mose Hocker, he asked abruptly: "Could you tell me just where your gun fell in?"
"I reckon I could if there was any need of it," was the drawling reply. "I happened to notice my bearings at the time. I was straight down from that rock out there, and straight out from the big button wood tree on yonder shore—right over the deepest part of the Hole."
"All right!" said Randy quietly. "Now if you will lend me your boat for about ten minutes I think I can restore you your gun."