Stratemeyer Edward
Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall

CHAPTER XXIII
AT THE CAMP

At last the train came that was to take our hero to the railroad station of Camptown Falls. It was merely a flag station, but the conductor said he would stop there for any passenger who might wish to get off. The railroad was a single-track affair, running through the woods and across the country stretches, and the train consisted of one passenger car and several freights.

Dave looked at the passengers and counted them. There were just an even dozen, and of these, ten were men, farmers and those in the lumber business. One, a bright young fellow, sat near our hero, and Dave resolved to ask him if he knew anything about Camptown Falls and the summer camps in that vicinity.

“Yes, I know all about the Falls,” said the young lumberman. “I work not over three miles from there – at Cropley’s – the station this side of Camptown. There ain’t any town, not since the Jewell Lumber Company busted up. Some folks camp out there, down along the river and on Moosetail Island, but there aren’t near as many as there used to be.”

“Somebody said the dam above Camptown Falls was dangerous?” said Dave.

“I think it is myself, and I can’t understand how they allow folks to camp along the river and on that island. If that dam ever broke it would be good-by to anybody on the island, I’m thinking.”

“Have you been up to the island lately?”

“I was there about a week ago.”

“Who were there then, do you know?”

“A couple of men from Portland and half a dozen young fellers from Springfield. There was another camp, with some women in it, but I didn’t get around to that, I only heard of it. There are half a dozen camps along the right bank of the river, but they are on high ground, and if the dam broke it isn’t likely the water would reach ’em,” continued the young lumberman.

The train rolled along at a rate of twenty miles an hour, making stops at stations and crossroads. Here and there a person got on or off, and by the time Camptown Falls was reached Dave had the passenger car almost to himself.

The train halted for but a minute and our hero alighted, suit-case in hand. Much to his surprise, not a soul was about the little depot, which looked old and dilapidated. There was a stretch of fields beyond the track, and farther on he made out the glistening waters of the river, and in the center the woodland stretch known as Moosetail Island.

“Well, this surely is Lonesome Land!” Dave murmured to himself, as the train rumbled out of sight and he was left utterly alone. “And not another train until eight o’clock to-morrow morning! I’ll have a fine time of it to-night if I don’t meet those fellows, or run across some camp where they will take me in.”

Dave looked at the sky and this did not tend to increase his good spirits. When he had left Oakdale it had been warm and clear; now dark clouds were forming overhead and it looked as if it might rain before long.

“Well, I’ve got my raincoat and a waterproof cap, and that is one comfort,” he told himself. “But I had better hurry up and see if I can’t find Phil and the others before it gets too dark. I wish there was somebody here who could tell me where to go.”

He looked around for a sign of some habitation. Far across the river he saw a column of smoke, coming up from among the trees, but that was all. The only building in sight was the deserted depot.

There was something of a path leading from the depot to the river, and Dave followed this. But soon the path seemed to divide, and the various branches became more indistinct at every step, especially as it was rapidly growing darker and darker.

“I’ll strike a straight course for Moosetail Island,” Dave said to himself. “I’ll surely find some people camping out there, and they may be able to tell me about the boys, if they are here.”

As he approached the river, going down a small hill, the way became stony, and he had to walk with care, for fear of going into some hole, or twisting an ankle. It was hard work, especially with the suit-case, and he half wished he had hidden the baggage somewhere near the depot.

“I was a big chump that I didn’t bring some lunch along,” he reasoned. And then he had to smile at himself, as he remembered how he had imagined that he might put up at some hotel in Camptown Falls! He had not dreamed that the place would prove such a lonely one. It was certainly an ideal spot for runaways who wished to remain undiscovered.

Presently Dave found himself at the bank of the river, a wide but shallow stream, filled with sandbars, rocks, and piles of driftwood. Not a great distance off was the end of Moosetail Island.

It was now so dark that our hero could see but little. As he stood at the edge of the river, he heard a patter on the leaves of the trees and knew it had begun to rain.

“Wonder how they get to the island?” he mused. “They must either use canoes, or else wade across, or ford along the stones.”

He moved along the river-bank, and soon came to a point where the stones in the river seemed to stretch in a line from the bank to the island.

“I guess I’ll try it here,” he told himself. “But I think I had better leave the suit-case behind.”

He placed the case in a tree, sheltering it as much as possible from the rain, which was now coming down at a lively rate. Then, donning his raincoat and waterproof cap, he set out over the rocks in the river, leaping from one to the next and heading for the island.

It was no easy journey, and when but half-way to Moosetail Island Dave slipped and went into the stream up to his knees. He floundered around for a moment, splashing the water into his face and over his coat and cap.

“Phew! this is lots of fun!” was his grim comment, as he at length found himself on a flat rock, catching his breath. “Well, I am half-way over, anyway.”

The remainder of the distance proved easier traveling, and ten minutes later our hero stood on the island. It was now raining steadily, and the darkness of the storm had settled everywhere.

“I guess the best thing I can do is to move right around the shore of this island,” he reasoned. “By doing that I am bound to strike one of the camps, sooner or later.”

He moved along as rapidly as the rocky shore of Moosetail Island permitted. He had to proceed with care, for there were many dangerous pitfalls.

At length his heart was gladdened by the sight of a rude log cabin, set in the trees a little back from the water. He hurried to it and found the door and window closed. Evidently the spot was deserted.

“Nobody here,” he murmured, and his heart sank for the moment, for he could see that the camp had not been used for a long time. Then he went on, the rain in the meanwhile coming down harder than ever. The downfall made him think of the dam that was said to be weak. What if the present storm should make that structure give way?

“I wish we were all out of this,” he murmured. “I wonder if it would do any good to call?”

He set up a yell and listened, and then he yelled again. From a long distance came an answering cry.

“Hurrah, that’s somebody, anyway!” he exclaimed. “I hope it was one of the boys!”

He stumbled in the direction of the cry. Then he yelled once more, and again came the answering call. But now Dave was sure it was a man’s voice, and he was somewhat disappointed.

“Where are you?” he called out, a moment later. “Where are you?”

“This way! Come this way!” was the reply, and soon Dave passed through a patch of timber and around some rocks and reached a spot where there was a tiny cove, with a stretch of fine sand. Facing the cove was a neat log cabin with a small lean-to, the latter containing a tiny stove.

A tall, good-natured man stood in the lean-to, peering out into the rain. He watched Dave’s approach with interest. He looked to be what he was, a camp-cook and general worker.

“Hello!” he exclaimed, as Dave hurried in out of the rain and shook the water from his cap. “I thought you were one of our crowd.”

“What camp is this?” questioned our hero, eagerly.

“Well, it ain’t no camp in particular,” answered the man, with a grin. “It’s jest a camp.”

“But who is stopping here?”

“Three young fellers and myself.”

“Are their names Beggs, Lawrence, and Basswood?”

“You’ve struck it. Maybe you are a friend to ’em?” went on the man, inquiringly.

“I am, and I have come a long distance to find them,” returned Dave, and his tone of voice showed his relief. “Where are they?”

“They left the camp right after dinner an’ they ain’t back yet. When you called I thought it was one of ’em, although they didn’t expect to be back much before supper-time. But now it’s rainin’ I guess they’ll come back sooner.”

“How long have they been here?”

“Most a week now, I guess. I didn’t come till day before yesterday. I didn’t have nothin’ to do an’ they give me a job, cookin’ an’ like that,” returned the man.

He invited Dave to make himself at home, and our hero was glad enough to go inside and take off the wet raincoat and also his shoes and socks. The baggage belonging to Phil and the others was in the cabin, and he helped himself to dry garments and a dry pair of slippers.

“We are all school chums,” he told the man. “My name is Dave Porter.”

“Oh, I heard ’em talkin’ about you!” cried the camp-worker, and then said his own name was Jerry Blutt, and that he was from Tegley, just across the Canadian border.

“We are not far from the border here, are we?” asked our hero.

“About six miles, thet’s all,” answered Jerry Blutt, and this reply gave Dave another idea. More than likely Buster and the others had chosen this spot so that, if pursued by the officers of the law, they could flee into Canada.

Jerry Blutt said the three lads had spent their time in various ways, occasionally going fishing and swimming. They had also written some letters and gone to the railroad station to mail them in the box placed there for that purpose.

“Have they been having a good time?” asked Dave, curiously.

“I can’t say as to that, Mr. Porter. They did seem mighty worried over something,” answered the camp worker, and from this our hero felt certain that the man had not been let into the secret of why the runaways were there at all.

Half an hour went by and it continued to rain as hard as ever, while the sky remained dark and the wind blew with more or less violence. Time and again Dave went to the cabin door, to peer out into the storm, but each time he turned back disappointed. His chums were not yet in sight.

“They’ll be surprised to see me,” he thought. “I wonder if they will listen to reason and go back with me? Supposing they refuse to return? I’d hate to go back alone.”

Then he questioned Jerry Blutt about the dam above the Falls. The man shrugged his shoulders.

“It ain’t safe, so they tell me,” he said. “But it’s been that way a long time, so maybe it won’t break away yet awhile. But I’d hate to be on the river when she does go.”

“Are there any other camps on this island?” went on our hero.

“Not now. There was some other folks, two or three parties, I was told, but they all moved out yesterday an’ the day before. Maybe they got afraid o’ the dam,” concluded the camp-worker.

CHAPTER XXIV
OUT IN THE STORM

“This is getting to be something fierce!”

It was Dave who uttered the words, about five o’clock in the afternoon. He was looking out of the door of the cabin, and beside him stood Jerry Blutt.

The storm had kept up without intermission, the rain coming down in a perfect torrent, and the wind blowing in fitful gusts from the east. It was raw and depressing, and our hero could not help but shiver as he looked out on the turbulent waters of the river.

“It’s a pity them fellers ain’t got back,” said the camp-worker, with a slow shake of his head. “It ain’t nice to be out in sech a downpour as this, an’ with sech a wind! Might a tree blow down on ’em!” And he shook his head again.

Dave was even more distressed than the man. He could not get that dam out of his mind. Such a heavy fall of rain would certainly cause a great flow of water, and if the structure was weak, most anything bad was liable to happen.

“As soon as the boys get back I’ll urge them to leave here,” he told himself. “If that dam breaks we want to be on high ground, where the flood can’t reach us.”

“’Pears to me like the river was gittin’ putty high,” remarked Jerry Blutt, a little later, as he watched the water in the cove closely.

“Well, it would rise some with all this rain coming down,” returned Dave.

“So it might, – but I don’t know. I wish this camp was on the shore, instid o’ this island.”

“So do I,” answered Dave, bluntly.

A fire had been started in the stove and a lantern lit, and Jerry Blutt rather reluctantly began preparations for the evening meal. But he kept peering out of the doorway of the cabin, and from the lean-to, and his eyes always rested on the river, with its rain-swept, swollen surface.

“I don’t like it at all!” he said, finally. “I wish we had moved over to the shore.”

“Don’t you think it is safe to stay here?”

“It ain’t as safe as it might be. If I was alone–” The man stopped short.

“What would you do?”

“I hate to say it, but I think I’d go over to the shore, till the storm was over and I knew jest how thet dam was a-goin’ to act.”

“Well, I don’t blame you,” answered Dave. “And if you want to go, go ahead.”

“Want me to go alone?”

“If you wish to go, yes.”

“But it ain’t no safer fer you than it is fer me.”

“That’s so, too. But I want to see those other fellows – in fact, I must see them. If I went to the shore I might miss them.”

“You could come back later on.”

“But I want to warn them of the danger from the dam.”

“You could write a letter and stick it up where they couldn’t help but see it. Then– What’s that?”

The camp-worker stopped short, as a distant cry reached their ears, sounding out above the wind. An instant later the cry was repeated.

“That is Ben Basswood’s voice!” cried Dave. “They must be coming back!”

Soon another voice sounded out, and our hero recognized Buster Beggs’s tones. He ran to the cabin door. All was dark outside, and the rain was being driven in sheets by the wind.

“Hello! hello!” he yelled, and catching up the lantern, he swung it out in one direction and another. Then he saw two forms approaching on the run, each dripping with water.

“Ben! And Buster!”

“Why, if it isn’t Dave!”

“Where in the world did you come from?”

“Where is Phil?” demanded our hero.

“He is somewhere behind us,” answered Buster. “Oh, what a time we’ve had!” and entering the cabin, the fat youth sank down on a bench all but exhausted.

“We’ve had to tramp for over two miles in this rain,” explained Ben. “And of course we had to ford to the island. Say, the current is something fierce now! And the water is getting higher every minute!” he added.

“Did you say Phil was behind you?” demanded Dave. He still held the lantern on high.

“I thought he was – sure, he must be,” answered Ben. “Give him a hail, will you? I’m too tired,” and he sank on the bench beside Buster.

“Phil! Phil!” yelled our hero, at the top of his lungs. “This way! This way!” and he swung the lantern to the right and left.

“Did you say the river is rising?” demanded Jerry Blutt. “How high is it? Over the White Bar yet?”

“Yes, the Bar is a foot under water,” answered Ben. “Oh, this is a great storm!”

“A foot under water!” murmured the camp-worker. “Say, we better git out! First thing you know this hull island will be under! An’ if thet dam breaks–”

“Oh, the dam!” gasped Buster. “I forgot about that! They say it isn’t safe at all! That is why all the other campers got out! Yes, we must leave the island and go to the shore.” He turned to Dave. “Did you come alone?”

“Yes, Buster. I’ll tell you all about it later. But now we must find Phil.”

“I thought he was right behind me,” came from Ben. He looked greatly distressed. “I wonder if anything happened to him? Maybe he slipped off the rocks into the river!”

“We must look for him!” cried Dave, and reached for his coat and cap. “Show me the way you came, Ben.”

Ben was nothing loath, and side by side the two chums ran outside into the storm, and in the direction of the upper end of the island. They had gone but a short distance when they reached a low spot and here suddenly found themselves in water several inches deep.

“Hello, you are taking me into the river!” cried Dave.

“This isn’t the river!” answered Ben, with a gasp. “Gosh! how the water is rising! This was dry when I came over it before!”

“Dry!” ejaculated our hero. “Ben, are you sure?”

“Positive! Say, the water is rising to beat the band! I guess we had better get out! If we don’t we’ll have to swim for it!”

“Phil! Phil! Where are you?”

Standing in water up to his ankles, our hero called again and again, and Ben joined in the cry. The lantern was flashed in all directions. But nothing was seen or heard of the missing student.

“I am sure he started to follow us across the river,” said Ben. “Buster was in front, I came next, and Phil was in the rear. I asked him twice if he was all right and he said he was. Then it blew so hard, and the rain got so heavy, none of us said any more. Oh, Dave, what shall we do?”

“I don’t know Ben – wish I did.”

“Do you think he slipped off the rocks and was – was – drowned?”

“I hope not.”

“If he was, wouldn’t it be terrible?”

“Yes.”

A cry came from behind them, and Buster appeared, followed by Jerry Blutt.

“Where is Phil?” demanded the stout youth.

“We don’t know.”

“The water is terribly high, and Jerry thinks we had better move to the shore. He says we might be drowned if that dam should break.”

“Don’t you think we ought to find Phil first?”

“Sure – if we can. Maybe he went back, when he found out how the water was rising,” went on the stout youth, hopefully.

“I don’t think he’d desert us,” answered Ben. “That isn’t Phil’s style.”

“You’re right, Ben,” said Dave.

All splashed around in the water for several minutes, but without making any discovery of importance. The river was now rising more rapidly than ever, and the camp-worker showed increased nervousness.

“Ain’t no two ways about it – the dam’s bust!” he cried, at last. “I’m goin’ to git out, an’ I advise all o’ you to do the same. If you want me to carry anything to shore I’ll do it.”

“We can’t carry any trunks in such a hurry,” said Buster.

“Let us carry our suit-cases and bundles,” said Ben.

With heavy hearts, Dave and the others returned to the cabin. The water in the cove had now risen so high that it swept the edge of the lean-to.

“Can we get to shore?” asked Buster. “We haven’t any boat,” he added, turning to Dave.

“We can if you’ll hurry,” replied Jerry Blutt. “Every minit lost makes it jest so much more dangerous.”

In great haste Ben and Buster and the camp-worker gathered together such belongings as they could conveniently carry. The other things were placed in a trunk and hoisted by ropes into a big tree. Then a lantern was tied on a post in front of the cabin and to it was fastened a brief note, for Phil’s benefit, stating they had gone to the shore.

“Oh, I hope he is safe!” murmured Dave, anxiously.

“So do I,” added his chums.

Jerry Blutt led the way along the shore of the island and then out into the stream. They had the second camp lantern with them, one belonging to Jerry. He led the way from rock to rock, and they followed in single file, Dave bringing up the rear. Ever and anon our hero looked back for some sign of Phil, but without avail.

Once out in the river, all were certain that the dam above Camptown Falls had burst. The water ran with great rapidity and was filled with dirt and débris of various kinds. On the rocks that were low they had all they could do to keep their footing.

The most dangerous part of the river had yet to be passed – a section close to the shore, where the water was deep and the rocks for fording few.

“Mind your footin’ here!” sang out the camp-worker. “An’ if you slip, look out thet you don’t hurt yourselves!”

He was splashing along in water up to his knees, sometimes on the rocks and then again on a sandbar running in that direction. Then he had to make a turn, to avoid a deep portion of the stream, where the current was rapid.

Ben was behind the man and Buster was just ahead of Dave. As all struggled along, there came an extra heavy blast of wind, followed by a perfect deluge of rain.

“Oh!” screamed Buster, an instant later, and peering through the rain, Dave saw him suddenly throw up his arms and slip from a rock. There was a splash, and poor Buster disappeared from view.

“Buster is in the river!” yelled our hero, and then he leaped for the rock from which the stout youth had fallen. He looked down and saw an arm and a head come up.

“Help! hel–” came from the unfortunate one, and then the swift current caught him and turned him over, out of sight.

“Help!” yelled Dave, to attract the attention of those ahead. And then, as he saw Ben turn back, he slipped down on the rock and into the swirling river and struck out after Buster.