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The High School Boys in Summer Camp, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 13. In A Fix! |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. IN A FIX! As the water in the creek was barely three feet deep, Officer Valden sprang from the car, holding his right hand, which had been caught in the brake mechanism. Deputy Simmons appeared to be uninjured. Greg Holmes went under water, his head striking a stone violently enough to bring a splash of blood to his forehead. Dave Darrin's head struck against the side of the car, bringing a cry of pain from him. Yet, though he was dizzy from the concussion, Darry displayed the coolest head of any of them in the first few moments. "Where's Dick?" he called, when he saw the others accounted for. Then Dave wrenched off one of the lamps, holding it to aid his vision. "There he is!" shouted Darrin, as his foot touched something. "His head is under water. Up with him, quickly!" Dave brought the rays of the lantern to bear more directly, while Simmons sprang to the rescue. Greg, too, joined in. "He's pinned down by the car!" gasped Deputy Simmons after finding Prescott's submerged body and giving it a hard tug. "Valden, help me lift the car on this side! You two boys pull your friend out when we lift the car. Now!" Though Deputy Valden was able to employ only his left hand, he used it with all his strength. "Here he comes," panted Dave, tugging at Dick's body with all his might. "Gracious! I hope he isn't drowned!" Greg, too, exerted all his strength. Though it seemed ages to the anxious ones it was really but the work of a few seconds. As Dick's head emerged above the surface of the water he gave a quick gasp. Then another. "Oh, the air seems good," he moaned. "I tried to keep from opening my mouth or breathing, but it nearly burst my lungs!" "Are you all right now?" asked Darry, holding his chum up. "If you'll help me to the bank I shall be, I think," answered Prescott weakly. "Why, what-----" began Dave anxiously. "I was badly bruised by being pinned under the car," Dick admitted, in a still weaker voice. "No bones broken, eh?" broke in Greg Holmes. "I---I think not," Dick answered. "Don't keep him talking," ordered Dave sternly. "Put in your strength and help me lift good old Dick up into the road." "I guess I can do that job better," interposed Simmons, who had let go of the car. "Let me have the boy." Dick was borne up to the road in the deputy's strong arms. "Can you stand?" asked Simmons. "Put me on my feet, sir, and let me see," begged Dick. He took a few steps, wincing, his face white. "Dick, old fellow," faltered Dave, "I'm afraid you've broken a leg." "No; or I couldn't stand on my legs and walk," Prescott replied. "It hurts up here, where the side of the car rested." He placed one hand on his right hip. "Then your hip is broken," groaned Darry. "I don't believe that, either," argued Dick. "If my hip were broken I don't believe I could move my leg or step." He took two or three steps, wincing painfully, to show what he could do. "Nothing but a hip bruise, or I'm guessing wrong," smiled the white-faced sufferer. "In any case, you're meat for a doctor," put in Deputy Simmons, with rough sympathy. "All right," replied Dick. "I'll walk to the doctor's office. How many miles is it?" "About fourteen," replied Simmons. "I'll bring the doctor to you. It's only about six miles to Ross' farm. I'll borrow his car. Then I can make good time getting the doctor and bringing him here. But you'd better sit down before I start." "Aren't you going to do anything with the car in the creek?" inquired Prescott. "What can we do?" demanded the deputy laconically. "There isn't muscle enough in this crowd to hoist the car up the bank. Anyway, her engine is damaged beyond a doubt. No, no, Prescott, you sit down, or lie down, and the rest of you had better wait here until I bring help. I can be back in three hours at the latest. Darrin, will you place one of the lamps at either end of where the bridge was? That may save some farmer from driving in on top of the car." Dave complied willingly enough. Then Simmons turned to Prescott. "Now, you sit down, young man," ordered the deputy. "I'd rather not," Dick replied. "I haven't anything worse than a bruise. If I keep too quiet the injury will stiffen all the more. I must move my hip a bit, or I may be in for a worse time." "That may be true," nodded the deputy thoughtfully. "Well, be good, all of you. I'll be back again, as soon as possible." With that he strode down into the creek, wading through and coming out at the farther side. Then he was lost among the shadows. Though it hurt to keep on his feet, Dick, after some minutes, found that he could move about a little more freely, despite the pain. "That shows there are no bones broken," he assured his distressed chums. "Does it?" asked Darrin. "Hang it, I wish I knew more about injuries of this sort. Then I might be able to help you." "Why, I may be all right, and able to sprint in another half hour," smiled Dick. "Yes, you will!" jeered Greg. "Dick, you won't run for a few days to come, anyway." "A nice lot we are, to set out to aid the law's officers," remarked Dave disgustedly. "Dick can take only a half a step per minute. Mr. Valden can use only one hand. Greg's head looks gory. The lot of us couldn't scare a baby now!" "I can still say, boo!" Prescott laughed. "Is it wise to try to do so much walking?" questioned Darry, as Greg went back to the creek to wash the blood from the shallow cut on his forehead. "Yes; for I don't want to grow stiff until I'm where I can take care of myself," Dick answered, taking a few more steps. "No; don't help me. I want to move alone, and I'm strong enough for that." So Dave threw himself on the grass to rest until he bethought himself that, wet as they all were, it might be a good idea to build a fire for drying purposes. He busied himself in that way, while Dick started slowly, very painfully, down the road. Only a step at a time could he go. Greg, returning, ran after him, but Prescott sent him back, so Holmes stretched himself on the ground near the fire. At times Dick found he could move about very easily. Then the hip would stiffen and he would be obliged to lean against a tree for a few moments. For ten minutes or longer he moved thus down the road. "I'd better be getting back soon, I guess," he mused, "or I may find it too much of a job." Looking back, as he turned, he could just make out the glow of the fire, very dim, indeed, from where he stood. "I've got a beacon," smiled Dick, as he rested against a tree trunk just off the road. He was about to take a step when a figure glided stealthily by. "By all that's astonishing, it's Tag Mosher!" Prescott gasped. He clutched at the tree trunk again, watching, for Tag had halted and appeared to be peering hard through the foliage at the fire some distance away. "I wouldn't want him to find me, now!" thought Dick, a cold chill running over him at the thought of Tag's desperate savagery. But at that moment Prescott accidentally made a sound, which, slight though it was, caught young Mosher's ear. In a twinkling Tag wheeled about, listening, peering. Then, straight toward Prescott he came. "Oh, it's you, is it?" demanded young Mosher harshly. "Yes," Prescott admitted, speaking as steadily as he could, though his heart sank for the moment. He knew that Tag would have time to give him a beating that would be doubly severe in his present condition of weakness and pain. That beating could be given in a few swift seconds, and the help within reach of Dick's voice could not arrive until young Mosher had had time to slip away among the trees of the forest that he knew so well. "What do you want with me?" demanded Tag, bringing his leering face closer to Prescott's. _ |
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