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

CHAPTER XXV
PERILS OF THE FLOOD

“Dave! Dave!” yelled Ben, as he saw our hero disappear into the swiftly-flowing river. “Look out, or you’ll both be drowned!”

“What’s the trouble?” yelled Jerry Blutt, as he turned back for the first time since leaving the island.

“Buster slipped in, and Dave went after him,” answered Ben. “Oh, what shall we do?” he went on, despairingly.

“Here – we’ll throw out the rope!” answered the camp-worker, and took from his shoulder a rope he carried.

In the meantime Dave had come up and was striking out with might and main for his chum. Our hero realized that Buster must be hurt, otherwise he would swim to save himself.

“Must have struck on his head, when he went over,” he thought, and he was right, poor Buster had done just that and now lay half-unconscious as the current swept him further and further from his friends.

It was too dark to see much, and Dave had all he could do to keep in sight of the unfortunate one. But presently the stout youth’s body struck against a rock and was held there, and our hero came up and seized the lad by the arm.

“Buster! Buster!” he called out. “What’s wrong? Can’t you swim?”

“Hel – help me!” gasped the fat youth. “I – I got a knock on the head. I’m so – so dizzy I do – don’t know what I – I’m do – doing!”

The current now tore Buster away from the rock, and he and Dave floated along on the bosom of the river for a distance of fifty yards. It was impossible to do much swimming in that madly-rushing element and Dave wisely steered for shore. He continued to support his friend, who seemed unable to do anything for himself.

At length, when our hero was all but exhausted, his feet struck a sandbar. At once he stood up, finding himself in water that reached to his waist. He caught up Buster and placed the weakened lad over his shoulder. In a dim, uncertain way he saw the shore loom up in front of him, and struck out in that direction.

It was a short but hard struggle. Twice Dave went down, once losing his hold on his chum. But he got up each time and went after Buster in a hurry. Then he made a final dash, came in contact with some bushes, and hauled himself and his burden to temporary safety.

All was dark around the two boys, and the rain came down as pitilessly as ever. But for this they did not, just then, care. They had been close to death, and now they were safe, and that counted for everything.

Poor Buster had received a severe bump on the forehead and had a swelling there of considerable size. But the stunning effect was passing, and he was able to sit up and peer around him.

“Oh, what a crack I got, when I fell over!” he murmured, and then he added, gratefully: “It was a fine thing for you to jump in after me, Dave!”

“Well, I couldn’t stand there and see you drown, Buster,” answered our hero. “I had to do something.”

“Where are the others?”

“Up the stream – unless they went overboard, too.”

“Then I suppose we ought to walk that way.”

“We will – after we get our breath and you feel strong enough.”

“Maybe you can call to them?”

“I’ll try.”

Dave yelled at the top of his voice, not once but several times. Presently an answering hail arose from a distance, and then Ben came running up, followed by Jerry.

“Dave! Buster! Are you safe?”

“Yes,” answered both.

“Oh, I am so glad! We were afraid you were both drowned! How did it happen?”

The two told their story, and then the others told how they had thrown out the rope and had seen Dave disappear in the darkness after Buster.

“I would have jumped in, too, but I didn’t see how I could do any good,” went on Ben. “Jerry said we had better come ashore and look for you down here. So we did that. My! but it’s a fearful flood, isn’t it!”

“Yes. I wish we knew where Phil was,” and Dave heaved a deep sigh. Had their chum lost his life in that rapidly-rising river?

“Ain’t no ust to stay here – gitting wetter an’ wetter,” said the camp-worker, after a pause. “Besides, if that flood gits wuss it is bound to come up here. We better git further back – up the hill.”

“Is there any shelter around here? I mean on high ground?” asked Dave.

“Yes, I know of a cabin up on the hill,” answered Buster. “I don’t know if I can find it in the rain and darkness, but I can try.”

He walked along, through the trees, until he reached a footpath running up from the shore. They followed the path for about a hundred yards, and then came in sight of a long, low, rambling cabin, the home in years gone by of some lumbermen. It was in a dilapidated state, with doors and windows gone, but it would provide a roof over their heads, and that was something.

Entering, the lantern was hung on a nail, and they looked around them. There was a fireplace, with some dry sticks handy, and soon they had a fire started, which added much to the comfort of the surroundings. They hung up the majority of their wet garments and sat close to the blaze, drying themselves.

“If I only knew where to look for Phil, I’d go after him,” said Dave. “But to look for him in the darkness is like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack.”

“We’ll have to go out first thing in the morning,” returned Ben.

“Yes, as soon as we can see,” added Buster.

The boys who had run away were anxious to learn what Dave had to say about affairs at Oakdale, and in a low voice, while the camp-worker was preparing hot coffee and something to eat, he related what had happened since their departure.

“You made a big mistake to run away,” he said, earnestly. “Just because you did that, many folks feel sure you must be guilty. You ought to go right back and face the music.”

“I guess you are right, Dave,” answered Ben, shamefacedly. “But when Phil said ‘run,’ I didn’t stop to think, but just got out.”

“And that is what I did, too,” added the stout youth. “But I don’t blame Phil any more than I blame myself,” he added, hastily.

“Nor do I,” said Ben. “We made a big mistake. We should have stood our ground, like you and Roger did.”

“Well, you come back with me, and we’ll face this to a finish,” went on our hero. “But, of course, we’ve got to find Phil first.”

Only the camp-worker slept well that night. The boys were restless, and several times one or another got up, to go to the doorway and listen, thinking he had heard a call from Phil. But the calls were only imaginary, and morning dawned without a sign of the missing one.

It was still raining, but not so hard as before, and by eight o’clock the clouds broke away and the sun commenced to shine. All had an early breakfast, from the stores brought along, and then the party hurried down to the river.

That the dam above Camptown Falls had broken was plainly evident on all sides. During the night the river had risen seven or eight feet, bearing on its bosom many trees and bushes, with here and there the remains of camps that had been located on low ground. Moosetail Island had been swept from end to end, only the higher spots escaping the flood. The waters were now going down, the rush from the broken dam having spent itself.

The boys gave scant heed to the destruction effected by the rain and the broken dam. All their thoughts were centered on Phil. What had become of their chum? Was he dead or alive?

“I wonder if it wouldn’t be best to get over to the island and look around?” suggested Dave. “Most likely he went there – thinking you would be at the cabin.”

“But how are we to get to the island?” asked Buster. He had no desire to fall into the turbulent stream again.

“Oh, the water is going down rapidly, Buster. I think we can make it by noon.”

All walked up and down the river bank, looking in vain for some trace of the shipowner’s son. Once they met some people from another camp and asked about Phil. But these folks shook their heads.

“Didn’t see a soul,” said one of the men.

Jerry Blutt had been looking the situation over carefully, and he said he thought they could get to the island by going up the river a distance.

“Then the current will help us along, and we won’t have to fight so hard,” said the camp-worker. He did not like the idea of crossing the water, but did not wish to desert the boys.

On the trip they carried the rope, with Jerry at the head and Dave at the rear. All took tight hold, so that if one slipped the others might pull him up.

“Now, take it easy,” cautioned the camp man. “This water is runnin’ putty swift, even yet.”

He had mapped out a course with his eye, and proceeded slowly and cautiously. Once away from the shore, they felt the full force of the onrushing waters and were all but swept from their feet. It was well that they were a good distance above Moosetail Island, for to reach this spot by going straight out in the stream would have been impossible.

It was a long, hard, and dangerous trip, and all drew a deep breath of relief when they finally set foot on the island. At times they had been in water up to their waists and it had looked as if they must surely be swept away. Once a tree branch, coming swiftly along, had caught Dave and literally carried him off his feet for several yards.

They landed at one end of the island, at a point where the bushes were still two feet under water. The evidences of the flood were on every hand, and the water was muddy and filled with broken-away brushwood and trees.

“I guess we had better strike out for the camp,” said Dave. “Phil would go there if he went anywhere.”

As they advanced one or another gave a loud call. But no answer came back, and this made them look gravely at each other. Was the perilous trip to the island to prove a vain one?

In a quarter of an hour they came in sight of the camp. The cove had been blotted out, and the water was eddying around the cabin to a depth of several inches. Mud was everywhere, inside the place and out, and this showed that the flood had swept the spot at a height of several feet.

“We might have stayed here,” was Buster’s comment. “It didn’t hurt the big tree.”

“But we didn’t know how bad it was going to be,” answered Ben. “It might have washed away the whole island.”

“Let us go up to the high ground and look for Phil,” suggested Dave. “Maybe he went to the highest spot he could find.”

The others agreed, and leaving the camp-worker at the cabin, the boys, led by Buster, tramped through the wet and mud to a little hill. Again they set up their calls, but, as before, no answer came back.

“I don’t believe he came here,” said Ben, at last. “If he was here he would surely hear us.”

“Unless he was hurt and couldn’t answer,” returned Dave.

From the top of the little hill they could see both ends of Moosetail Island and also both shores of the river. As they gazed about them, Dave suddenly gave a shout.

“Look! look!” he cried, pointing to the shore which they had left but a short while before. “There is somebody waving a handkerchief at us!”

“It’s Phil!” returned Ben.

“Are you sure?” questioned Buster. “I can see it is a man or a boy, but that is all.”

“It looks like Phil,” said Dave. “Oh, I hope it is!”

CHAPTER XXVI
BACK TO THE SCHOOL

They waved frantically to the person on the shore, and he waved frantically in return, and at last all were convinced that it must really be their missing chum.

“He must think I am Jerry,” said Dave. “Won’t he be surprised to see me!”

“He will be, unless he was at the cabin last night and read the note,” returned Buster.

“The note wasn’t touched,” said Ben. “I noticed that it was exactly as we left it.”

All gave a parting wave and pointed to the shore, and then left the hill. They made their way down to the cabin, and told the camp-worker what they had seen.

“It must be Lawrence,” said Jerry Blutt. “Maybe he’ll come over here, instead of waiting for us to go to him.”

“Gracious, I never thought of that!” cried Buster.

“We’ll be like the men in one of Shadow’s stories,” said Ben. “One was upstairs in a big office building and one downstairs. The man upstairs went down, and the downstairs man went up, and they kept that up until both stopped, tired out, one upstairs and one down.” And the others had to smile at the brief yarn.

All journeyed to the lower shore of the island, where they could get a better view of the spot where the person they thought was Phil had been. They saw the party walking up the river bank, looking for a good place to ford. All shouted loudly and waved their hands to keep him where he was, and he nodded his head deeply, to show that he understand.

“It must be Phil,” said Dave. “Oh, how thankful I am that he wasn’t carried away by the flood!”

The boys were impatient to get back to the shore, and Jerry Blutt did not blame them. To carry any of the stuff over was still out of the question, and they did not attempt it.

“You can come and get it some day, Jerry,” said Buster. “You can ship it to us by express, and we’ll pay you for your trouble;” and so it was arranged.

It was as hard to gain the shore as it had been to reach the island, and all were well-nigh exhausted when they finally left the water, not to return again. Phil saw them coming, and when he made out Dave he was almost dumfounded.

“Where in the world did you come from?” he demanded, as he caught our hero by the hand.

“From Oakdale, Phil.”

“Did you run away, too?” demanded the shipowner’s son.

“Hardly,” answered Dave, with a grin. “I came to bring you fellows back. But first tell us, how did you get out of the flood last night?”

“Oh, I had a fierce time of it. I tried to get back to the camp, but stumbled over some tree-roots and went down in a hole and hurt my ankle. When I got up I couldn’t see the others, and I must have lost my way. Then it began to rain and get dark, and I didn’t know which way to turn. I yelled dozens of times, but I didn’t hear any answer. I tried to locate the cabin, but I must have been completely turned around, for I came out on the shore. Then the flood came along, and before I knew it I was floating down the river. I hit a tree and clung to that, and we drifted a mile or more before the tree got stuck on a sandbar. I stayed there, in the rain and darkness, until morning and then waded and swam ashore. I was so tired out I had to rest for awhile, and then I came up here, to try to find out something about our crowd. I was thinking of getting over to the island again when I saw you on the top of the hill. Of course, I thought Dave was Jerry.”

“We were scared to death, thinking you had been drowned,” said Ben.

“Well, I came pretty close to it,” was the serious reply. “No more such flood for me!”

All turned towards the cabin where four of the party had spent the night, and there Jerry was called on to prepare the best meal their limited stores afforded. On the river-bank they had picked up some fish cast up by the flood, and these were broiled, making a welcome addition to the meal.

While the meal was being prepared, and after it had been eaten, Dave had a serious talk with Phil and the others, and all realized the folly they had committed in running away from Oak Hall. Phil in particular, was much disturbed and said he had been thinking of coming back.

“But we saw that article in the newspaper, and it scared us,” went on the shipowner’s son. “Of course, it didn’t mention any names, but we knew it was meant for us. I know now, just as well as the others, that it was a mistake to run away.”

“Then, you’ll go back with me?” questioned Dave, eagerly.

“Yes.”

“And you’ll go back, too, Ben and Buster?”

“Yes.”

“I am mighty glad to hear it – and I feel that this thing will come out all right in the end,” returned Dave.

“By the way, there is one thing I haven’t told you, Dave,” said Buster, a minute later. “The general excitement drove it clean out of my head. We know who it was that spoiled the feast Phil got up for the crowd.”

“You do?” asked our hero, with interest.

“Yes. It was Nat Poole. He went to Rockville and sent those telephone messages to Jason Sparr and that musical professor, calling the whole affair off. He did it because he wasn’t invited to take part.”

“How did you learn this?”

“I heard it the night I went to the Hall to get our baggage. When I was in hiding, waiting for a chance to go to the dormitory, I saw Nat Poole come in, along with that new student, Will Fasey. They had been out somewhere having a good time, and Nat was telling Fasey how he had sent the telephone messages and queered the feast. I would have pitched into him then and there only I didn’t dare expose myself,” went on the stout youth.

“But he’ll get what is coming to him from me, when I get back to the school,” put in Phil. “It was a contemptible piece of business, and I want everybody to know it. Besides, he has got to pay for what I lost by the transaction.”

“If it wasn’t for that, maybe we wouldn’t have been suspected of blowing up the hotel,” said Ben. “Then you really think the wild man did it, Dave?”

“Yes.”

“But what of that letter Jason Sparr got, saying our crowd was guilty?”

“I don’t know what to make of that, Ben. I don’t think the wild man could write that.”

“Would Nat Poole be bad enough to do it?”

“Maybe. But it was an awful thing to do. I didn’t think Nat would be as mean as that.”

The boys had dried and pressed their clothing as best they could, and put on clean collars, cuffs, and neckties, and therefore looked quite presentable once more.

“As soon as we get to town we can get cleaned up a little better,” said Dave. “So we won’t look quite like tramps when we return to the Hall.”

“I hate to face Doctor Clay,” remarked Phil, dubiously.

“So do I,” added Ben and Buster.

“Well, it has got to be done,” answered Dave. “So make the best of it. The doctor understands the situation, so I don’t think he’ll be hard on you.”

“I hope they have got the wild man, and that they prove he blew up the hotel,” said Phil, wistfully. “That is the only thing that will really clear us.”

“Oh, they are bound to get the wild man sooner or later,” answered Dave, hopefully.

It was decided to take the one afternoon train from Camptown Falls, and at the proper time the boys walked to the little depot, Dave with his suit-case, and the others with some hand baggage. Instructions were left with Jerry Blutt regarding the other baggage, and the man was paid for his services. He said he was glad that nobody had been drowned in the flood, and added that he was going up to the broken-away dam later on to see how matters looked.

It was a rather quiet crowd that got aboard the train when it came along. The conductor wanted to know how they had fared in the flood, and they told him. At Lumberport the boys had to wait an hour for the next train to Oakdale Junction, and they spent the time in getting a good supper, and in having their shoes shined, and in brushing up generally.

“I’ll be glad to get back late at night,” said Phil to Dave. “I’d hate to have the whole crowd staring at us when we came in.”

At the Junction they waited but a few minutes, and the run to Oakdale did not take long. They were the only ones to get off at the depot, and the spot was all but deserted. But they had telegraphed ahead, and Horsehair was on hand, with a carriage, to meet them.

“Glad to see you young gents back, indeed I am,” said the school driver.

“Any news, Horsehair?” asked Dave, as they piled into the carriage.

“Not as I know of.”

“Have they got that wild man yet?” questioned Phil.

“No, sir. But they seen him – along the river – day before yesterday. He was sleepin’ in a barn. But he got away before the farmer and his man could git him.”

“Where was that?” questioned Ben.

“Up to the Morrison place.”

“The Morrison place,” mused Buster. “I know that family. When I get a chance I am going to ask them about this,” he added.

When the boys arrived at Oak Hall they found Doctor Clay sitting up to receive them. He smiled at Dave, but was somewhat cold towards the others.

“It is too late to listen to what you have to say to-night,” said he. “All of you may report in my office directly after our opening exercises in the morning.”

When the boys went upstairs there were a good many exclamations of surprise, and Roger and the others wanted to ask innumerable questions. But a monitor cut all talk short, and Dave and the runaways got to bed as quickly as possible.

All were up early, and Dave, Phil, and the others had to tell their story before going down to breakfast. Roger and those who had been left behind with him listened eagerly to the tale of the flood and the other happenings.

“I guess Dave got there just in time,” said the senator’s son. “How about it, Buster?”

“He sure did,” said the stout lad, and shuddered to think how close he had been to drowning.

It can well be imagined that Phil, Ben, and Buster did not have much appetite for breakfast. Phil looked around for Nat Poole, but the money-lender’s son had not yet returned to the school.

“Now, tell me everything,” said Doctor Clay, when the boys at length filed into his office. “As they say in court, we want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“And that is what I’m going to give you, Doctor Clay,” answered Phil. “I made a big mistake in running away, and I am glad Dave came to bring us back. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I am here to face the music, as the saying goes.”

“And so am I,” came from Ben and Buster.

Then the boys told their story in detail, omitting nothing, and Dave related how he had gone to Camptown Falls, and how the flood had caught him. In the midst of the narrative came a sharp knock on the door.

“Come in,” said the doctor, and one of the servants entered.

“A man to see you, sir,” said the servant. “He says it is very important – something about that wild man, sir! He’s terribly excited, sir!”

“The wild man again!” murmured the master of the school, while the boys looked at him and the servant with interest. “Show the visitor in and I will hear what he has to say.”