The Crimson Sweater/Chapter 20

OY'S first impulse was to summon assistance, to rouse the camp; his next, to avoid detection. For the beach was empty of boats; every one of the five, the four steel rowboats and Chub's canoe, had been lifted into the water and manned by the marauders, and by the time the fellows reached the scene they would be far out into the river. All this Roy sensed in far shorter time than it has taken to tell it. Scarcely a moment had passed since the moonlight had revealed the stooping figure in front of him. Roy still stood poised for that forward step. The form at his feet resolved itself into a boy with a woolen sweater and a cloth cap. He had laid a piece of paper on the beach and was piling pebbles upon it. Had he glanced up quickly he could not have failed to see Roy, even though the latter stood in partial shadow. Roy held his breath and waited. In the boats the dark forms of the invaders were motionless, startled doubtless by the sudden advent of the moonlight. Then the boy at Roy's feet straightened himself up with a little laugh, and, without glancing back, crept down the beach toward the boats. And as suddenly as it had come the moon went, and once more the darkness enveloped everything. Roy took a deep breath and, with pulses leaping, crept silently after the other. The moon had played into his hands.

He kept to the right, heading toward the last of the boats as he remembered its location. The Hammond boy had gone straight down the beach and Roy had no desire to overtake him. In a moment his feet were in the water, splashing softly. Vague forms came and went in the darkness and his hands groped toward them. It is probable, however, that he would have waded straight into the middle of the stream had not a low voice hailed him.

"Here you are, Jim, get in here!"

Roy turned toward the voice, stumbled over a sunken stone and collided with the side of a rowboat.

"Don't make so much noise, you plunger!" said the voice. "Give me your hand."

Roy gave it and was promptly hauled over the side of the boat. Someone pulled him down upon a seat.

"All right!" whispered the voice.

"All right, fellows!" called someone in the next boat softly. And there came the sound of creaking rowlocks.

"Got your oar?" whispered the fellow who shared Roy's seat. Roy felt around and found it and began to row.

"Look out, you fellows!" called a voice from the darkness beside them, and they ceased rowing while another boat crossed ahead of them.

"More to the right," commanded a boy behind Roy and Roy pulled hard on his oar. Presently a little breeze came into their faces and Roy guessed that they were rounding the lower end of the island. Very silently they went. After a little Roy turned his head and saw a light here and there on the farther shore. He judged that they were by this time about half way across. The fellows about him began to converse in whispers, gradually forgetting caution as they left the island farther and farther behind.

"Won't they be a surprised lot of chumps in the morning!" asked someone with a laugh.

"They sure will," answered another Hammondite. "They'll be 'very ill' for a long while."

"I never thought we'd do it," said the boy who was working an oar next to Roy. "I don't see yet why they didn't hear us."

"They weren't expecting us," said another. "I tell you that was a foxy idea of Jim's, to find out where they kept the boats from the other shore, now wasn't it?"

"Who went over, Jim?" asked Roy's companion. Roy's heart sank, but luckily someone behind answered for him.

"He went over himself, he and Smith. Rowed over a mile up-river, left the boat, came down across the fields. They watched for an hour and saw the Ferry Hill fellows come back from school and haul the boats out. Oh, it was an all-right scheme!"

Roy looked at the sky, hoping mightily that the moon wouldn't come out until they had reached the other shore. There was still a lighter patch up there, but the moon seemed pretty well extinguished for the time being. If only they wouldn't insist on his talking!

"Do we have to give the boats back right away, Jim?" asked a voice from the bow. Roy hesitated, hoping that as before someone would answer for him. But no one did. So he plucked up his courage.

"Guess so," he replied, rather huskily.

"Say, you've got a peach of a cold, haven't you?" asked his neighbor. "Did you get wet?"

"Sopping," growled Roy.

"Too bad. You come up to my room when we get back and I'll give you a dose of medicine. I've got some dandy stuff! Nasty's no name for it, but it'll do you good."

"Thanks," muttered Roy.

Meanwhile the others were discussing the yielding of the prizes of war.

"They'll probably be around in the morning for them," said one boy. "I vote we all go down to the landing and receive them."

"Sure; we always do," said another.

"Much you know about it," said a third. "You weren't here two years ago, and we didn't get them last year."

"Well, I guess I've heard about it, haven't I?" was the indignant response.

"Easy at the oars, fellows," a voice in the bow cautioned. "We're almost in."

"Where the deuce are we?" asked another voice.

"Here's the landing over here!" The information came from some distance down stream and Roy and the other rower headed that way. Then their bow bumped into one of the other boats, and presently, after several moments of confused rowing and backing, they were alongside the float. Roy dropped his oar and sprang out.

"Say, someone strike a light!" suggested a voice. "I'll see if I can find the boat-house lantern."

An exclamation of pain and a crash told the rest that he had gone in search of it; and at the same moment Roy's companion shoved the boat they were in up on shore and rushed toward the platform, leaving Roy alone with the boat, while the attention of the others was centered upon the effort to get a light.

"I've got a match," called a boy, and Roy dove wildly into the darkness just as a tiny point of light flared up. Where he was going he didn't know; but luckily the branches of a tree whipped his face and he groped his way into a damp thicket and subsided panting upon the ground. He had gone some twenty yards. Back on the landing they were lighting the big square lantern that hung on the front of the boat-house and the radiance from it allowed Roy to watch what was going on. As nearly as he could judge there had been fully a dozen boys in the party and now they were securing their own boats and the Ferry Hill crafts along the edge of the float.

"I think we ought to put them in the boat-house or somewhere," he heard one of the crowd say. "Supposing they find out that we've swiped them and come over here before we're up."

"Oh get out!" someone answered. "They won't know anything about it until half-past six or seven. We'll be down here by that time."

"Where does this lantern belong?" asked a voice.

"Any old place. Leave it here."

"Let's take it along to find the path with."

"Yes, and have Crowley or Murdock see it and get on to the whole thing! I guess not! Blow it out and leave it by the boat-house."

Then came darkness again and the sound of feet drawing near Roy's place of concealment. On they came, trooping up the path, laughing and talking softly. Roy crawled gingerly back into the bushes. The first of the crowd passed within arm's reach, or so it sounded. Then came others, stumbling and muttering. Presently,

"Is that you, Jim!" asked one of the passers.

"That's me," answered a clear voice.

"Coming up to the room for that medicine?"

"What medicine?"

"For your cold."

"Say, you want to get to sleep, my boy. I haven't got any cold."

"You said you had, you idiot! It doesn't sound so now, though."

"I said I had a cold? When did I say so?" demanded Jim.

"Why, in the boat, coming back. I said—"

Then they passed out of hearing and Roy smiled all to himself there in the darkness. Finally the last of the footfalls ceased sounding on the path and Roy stretched his cramped limbs and eased his position. It wouldn't do to return to the landing yet, though; he must allow them at least an hour to get to bed and asleep. To be sure, the dormitories were not, he believed, in view of the landing, but it wouldn't do to take chances. So he made himself as comfortable as he could and waited. He was shivering now and his teeth chattered every time he opened his mouth to yawn. He wondered what time it might be; perhaps one o'clock, perhaps four. At any rate, he must wait an hour longer and he mustn't go to sleep while he waited.

That was the hardest part of it, to keep awake. It seemed to him that he had never been sleepier in his life. The minutes passed while he strove to keep his eyes open. Time and again he caught himself drowsing and threw off the temptation just in time. But the minutes went by, as they must even when a chap is sitting in a thicket in a suit of damp clothes, and minutes make hours. After a while he assured himself that the hour had passed, yet resolutely held his place for a while longer to be on the safe side. Finally, shivering and cramped, he crawled out and picked his way back to the landing. If only he had matches! he thought ruefully. And the next moment his bare foot trod on something and stooping he picked up what he wanted! It felt like a good one, but he decided to find the lantern before he tested it. He didn't have to search long for the lantern, for he fell over it almost the next step he took. Finding a sheltered place, he opened the lantern and tried the match. It lighted, flickered uncertainly a moment and then burned steadily. He held it to the wick, closed the door and raising the light looked about him.

There were seven rowboats and Chub's canoe made fast to the end of the float. It was a little difficult to tell which were Ferry Hill and which Hammond craft, but Roy didn't let that trouble him. For the next ten minutes he was so busy that he forgot his coldness. Once the moon came out for a moment or two, but for the most part it was so dark that the lantern's rays seemed very feeble. Finally, however, the last knot was tied and Roy, blowing out the lantern, slid into one of the Ferry Hill boats and slipped oars into oarlocks. Then, slowly, he headed away in the darkness, and one by one went each of the seven other boats, the canoe dipping along in the rear. For, thought Roy with a chuckle, "what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."

I'm not going to dwell on the next hour. Fortunately there was no wind, and the slight tide was in his favor. There were one or two lights on the opposite shore, but as Roy didn't know where they were they didn't help much, and it was more by good-luck than good management that he reached it at all.

When the boat did grate on the shore he leaped out with painter in hand and made fast to a rock. Then he returned to the boat and waited as patiently as he could for dawn. But he didn't have to do that, as it proved. He had been nodding here only half an hour perhaps when the moon, which all the night had been trying its best to elude the clouds, positively leaped into view with an effect so startling that Roy almost fell out of the boat. The moon was floating across a little pond of purple-gray sky, the banks of which were piles of fluffy white clouds like snow. But he didn't waste much time in admiring the scene. Swiftly he looked about him. He would have yelled with joy if he hadn't been so tired and sleepy, for there, not a dozen yards away along the bank was the boat-house.

At first he decided to pull the boats out where they were and return to the island without them. Then he determined to see the thing through if it took all the rest of the night. So he pushed off and headed up-stream. By keeping well in toward shore he was soon in the lee of the island where no breeze could reach him. After that, it was simple work. The moon stayed out long enough to guide him to shore and then retired again. A few minutes' work on the beach sufficed to bring all the boats out of the water. He worked quietly, for he had no wish to explain the night's happenings then; he wanted only to tumble into bed and go to sleep. Softly he felt his way through the brush—it was too dark to find the path—crossed the clearing and at length found his tent and crept quietly into bed. The next thing he knew the canvas overhead was a moving pattern of sunlight and shadow and Chub was pulling him out of bed by one foot.