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The High School Boys in Summer Camp, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 7. Fighting The Mad Stampede |
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_ CHAPTER VII. FIGHTING THE MAD STAMPEDE "Nothing doing, and don't get excited," replied Tom Reade, shaking his head. "There will be a lot doing in three or four minutes," Prescott retorted excitedly. "The cattle are stampeded, and they'll sweep through here like a cyclone." "The trees will break up the stampede," Tom insisted coolly. "Not much they won't," Dick answered. "The cattle are headed along a natural lane, where the trees are less thick than in other parts of the forest." "The trees will stop 'em before they get here," Reade insisted. "The trees will do nothing of the sort," uttered Dick, glancing swiftly about him. "The cattle are among the trees already. Just hear that rumble. And it's a lot closer now." "I reckon we'd better move, do it now, and do it fast," cried Hazelton, who knew that Dick's judgment was generally the best. "And leave our camp to be trampled down and made a complete wreck by a lot of crazy cattle?" gasped Greg Holmes. "I'd rather have the camp trampled than my face," retorted Dalzell. "I don't want to flee from here and leave the camp to be destroyed, and our summer's fun spoiled," protested Greg. "We must stop the cattle, or split their stampede." "All right, Holmesy," agreed Tom ironically. "I appoint you to do my full share in stopping a stampede of cattle." Reade's face had suddenly grown very grave as he now realized that the trees were not stopping the frenzied cattle. Dick, who had been thinking, suddenly wheeled, making a break for the supplies. "Get a box of matches, each one of you!" he shouted. "Then sprint with me for that patch of sun-baked grass just north of us." "What's the idea?" Dave asked, but Dick was already running fast. "Get your matches and come on!" Dick called back over his shoulder. As speedily as could be done the others followed suit. Dick reached the sun-burned strip of grass, whose nearer edge was some two hundred yards north of camp. "Hey! He's starting a forest fire!" gasped Dan Dalzell, as he caught sight of young Prescott bending over the dried, yellowish grass. "Scatter, all along the strip!" shouted Prescott, rising as soon as he had ignited a clump of grass. "Get this whole strip of burned grass blazing. It's the only chance to save the camp---or ourselves!" Dalzell shivered. Nor could Dan understand how such a course would serve to save their camp. But he saw the others following their leader's orders. "Get over the ground, Dan!" bellowed Dick, as he sprinted to another point. "Start a lot of blazes!" So Danny Grin fell in line with the movements of the others, though he felt not a little doubt as to the wisdom of the course. Flame was now spurting up over more than an acre of the sun-baked strip of grass. "Get a lot more of the grass going, fellows!" panted Dick, who was working like a beaver and dripping with perspiration. "It's our only hope. Hustle!" With the flames arose a dense cloud of smoke. As the wind was from the southwest the smoke was in the faces of the onrushing cattle. "There! We've done all we can!" bellowed Dick, running down the line formed by his chums. "Now, get back out of this roasting furnace." Close to the edge of the burning strip of grass the six high school boys now stood side by side gazing at their work. "We'd better scoot!" counseled Danny Grin. "Where can we go?" Dick shouted, in order to make himself heard over the crackling flames and the greater noise of the pounding hoofs. "If we're not safe behind a curtain of flame, there is no other place near where we'd be safer." Danny Grin turned to bolt, but Darry reached out, catching him by the collar and throwing him to the ground. "Don't be a fool, Danny, and don't be panic stricken," Darrin advised. "We're safer here, at least, than we can be anywhere else within a quarter of a mile." The bellow of a bull through the forest---a bellow taken up by other bulls---made all of the boys quake in their shoes. But none of the lads ran away. Gazing between the trees they soon made out a stirring sight. On came the stampede, cattle packed so tightly that any animal falling could only be trampled to death by those behind. "My, but that's a grand sight!" cried Tom Reade. Not one of the six boys but longed to take to his heels. To them it seemed absolutely impossible for the cattle to turn aside as they must dash on through the blazing grass, such was the pressure from behind. Yet not one of Dick & Co. turned to run. Suddenly three of the bulls went down to their knees, snorting and bellowing furiously. Half a dozen cows held back from the flames, only to be trampled and killed. Somehow, the powerful bulls staggered to their feet, then broke to one side. A dozen more cows plunged on into the blazing grass, then sank, overcome by the heat. It seemed like a miracle as, following the bulls, the herd split, some going east, others west, and carrying the swerving cattle after them in two frantic streams. In some way that the boys could not understand, the pressure of cattle from the rear accommodated itself to the movement of the forepart of the herd. The herd divided now swept on rapidly, going nearly east and west in two sections. Not until some six hundred crazy cattle had passed out of view did the boys feel like speaking. Indeed, they felt weak from the realization of the peril they had so narrowly escaped. "I think, fellows," proposed Dave Darrin huskily at last, "that we owe a whopping big vote of thanks to good old Dick Prescott!" "After we pass that vote," proposed Hazelton, "we'd better make all haste to get out of these woods before the owner of this stretch of forest comes along to nab the fellows who set his timber afire." "Do you see any trees ablaze?" Dick demanded. Now, for the first time, two or three of the fellows began to realize the value of Dick's idea. The sun-burned grass, some three acres in extent, was a clearing devoid of trees. Here the July heat had baked the turf. On all sides, under the trees beyond, the grass was still green. Any boy who has ever been in the country knows that green grass won't burn. Hence the blaze was limited to a small area. A few trees whose trunks were near the edge of the clearing were smoking slightly, but no damage was done to the timber. There was really no work to be done in extinguishing this fire, which, furious while it lasted, was now dying out. "Let's get back and see how our camp fared," proposed Hazelton. "We don't have to," Dick replied. "We saw the directions taken by the cattle, and they didn't go anywhere near our camp. Let's wait, and, as soon as the ground is cool enough, let's get out to the injured cows, and see if we can help any of them." Hardly had Dick spoken when one of the cows, right at the edge of the blackened clearing, rose clumsily, then moved slowly northward. Presently another cow followed suit. "We can get over the ground now," said Dick. "Let's go out and look at these animals." They counted eight dead cows, their unwieldy carcasses lying motionless on the burned grass. "Probably killed by the hot air that they drew into their lungs," commented Tom Reade. "We killed the poor beasts," said Danny Grin, with a catch in his breath. "Perhaps we did," Dick admitted. "But we had to do something. Anyhow, we broke the force of the stampede, and, if that hadn't been checked, a still greater number of cows would have been killed. They would have fallen, exhausted, and then they would have been trampled on and killed by the plunging cattle behind them." "That's true enough," nodded Tom. "Even if we did kill a few, I guess we're more entitled to praise than reproach." Two more cows presently got up and limped away, but there were four others still alive, yet too badly hurt to attend to themselves. Nor could the high school boys help, further than by carrying buckets of water to the suffering animals. Dick & Co. had no firearms along, and could not put the injured cows out of their misery. "Now, let's get out of here," urged Dick at last. "We can't do any good here, and this is no pleasant sight to gaze upon." "It seems too bad to leave all this prime roast beef on the ground, doesn't it?" hinted Tom. "And we fellows have such good appetites." "The cattle are not ours," Dick rejoined. "We have no right to help ourselves to any cuts of meat from the dead animals." So they returned to the camp, which they found, of course, quite undisturbed. It so happened that the four members of the party who had proposed going to other scenes for the forenoon forgot their projects. _ |
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