AGAIN TOM FINDS SOMETHING

When morning came all the boys admitted that Cal had been right in saying that troubles exaggerate themselves at night and seem far less hopeless when faced by daylight. The situation was the same that morning that it had been at midnight, but it did not seem so bad. Dunbar had not appeared and every hour that passed made it less probable that he ever would return. But somehow even that prospect did not altogether appal the boys when they thought of it by daylight.

Nevertheless, their minds were greatly disturbed as they waited throughout that day for Cal to unbosom himself of the ideas and suggestions he had promised to offer. They hoped he would do so at breakfast, but he talked instead of plans for that day’s work in rebuilding the hut. While they were engaged in building it there was no opportunity for him to set forth his views; they could not get together to hear his plans without delaying the work, and they were agreed that nothing must be permitted to interrupt that. They looked forward to dinner as the opportunity he would probably seize upon for explaining, but when during that meal some one threw out a hint that that was as good a time as any, Cal replied:

“We’ll wait till evening; we must give Mr. Dunbar till then to return. If he doesn’t put in an appearance by sunset to-day we may as well give up looking for him. Then will be the time for discussing the situation and planning ways out of it. Now we’ll all get to work again.”

There was something in Cal’s manner and in his general cheerfulness which comforted his comrades, though it would have puzzled them to say how or why. It was evident at any rate that Cal had not lost hope. It was obvious that he saw nothing in the situation that should suggest despair, and his manifest confidence was in some degree contagious.

The sun was still an hour high when suddenly Cal called out:

“Suppose we let it go at that, boys. The thing’s good enough as it stands and we can get on with it for the few weeks that remain of our stay at Quasi.”

“Then you really see a way out?” asked Larry. “What is it?”

“Come on over to the bluff and we’ll have a last look for Mr. Dunbar. If he isn’t within sight we’ll give him up and make up our minds that we shall never see the Hunkydory again. Then we’ll talk the thing over and see what is to be done.”

They set out for the bluff, restraining their impatience to hear what Cal might have to say with a good deal of difficulty, and only because they must. They knew he would say nothing until he should be ready, and that if they hurried him he would remain silent the longer.

No sign appearing of Dunbar or the dory, Cal sat down with the others and seemed ready to say what was in his mind.

“This is a situation that we didn’t reckon upon, but it is by no means hopeless, and we shall enjoy talking about it as the crowning event in our trip to Quasi when we come to think of it only as a memory.”

“But we’re not out of it yet,” interrupted Larry, “and I for one see no prospect of getting out.”

“There speaks despair, born of pessimism,” Cal smilingly said. “‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast,’ you know, and my breast is altogether human and hopeful. But let us suppose your despair is well founded, and see what then. At worst we shall not starve to death. There is plenty of game—”

“Yes, and fish too,” Tom interjected.

“Yes, and fish too. It won’t be easy to get them without a boat, but we’ll manage in some way.”

“We can easily make a raft to fish from,” suggested Dick.

“I had thought of that,” resumed Cal, “but it’s impracticable.”

“Why so?”

“Because we have no anchor and nothing that will serve as a substitute for one. Of course the tide would quickly sweep our raft away from any bar we might try to fish upon. No, what fish we get will have to be caught with the castnet at low tide, and in the mouths of sloughs where mullets feed, particularly at night. But there is game, and there are oysters, and no end of crabs. We shall not starve to death. We have no bread left, and Tom’s sweet potato patch is about exhausted, but we can live on the other things for the two or three weeks that we must stay here.”

“You’ve said something like that several times, Cal,” said Larry, with a touch of impatience. “What do you mean by it?”

“I mean that this is the beginning of September; that the college session will begin on the first of October—less than a month hence; that our honored parents expect us to be in attendance at that time; and that if we don’t get home in time to pack our trunks they will send out and search for us; and finally, that as Major Rutledge, of Charleston, whom I have the honor to call father, knew in advance that we intended to visit Quasi on this trip, Quasi will be the place at which he will first look for us. So we’ll have our little frolic out and it will be great fun to tell the fellows at college about it after we get acquainted with them.”

The spirits of the boys responded promptly to Cal’s confident prophecy, which indeed was not so much a prophecy as a statement of simple facts known to all of them, though in their half panic-stricken mood they had not thought of them before.

Presently Dick had something to say that added a new impulse to activity.

“Of course, Cal is right, and we’ll be rescued from Quasi before the end of the month, but I for one would like us to get away without being rescued. Think of the alarm and distress our mothers will suffer if we do not turn up in time, especially as this earthquake has happened. They will think we’ve come to grief in some way and—I say, boys, we simply must get away from here before they take the alarm.”

“We certainly ought to if there was any way,” said Cal, “but of course there isn’t.”

“Yes, there is,” answered Dick, confidently. “You’re the pessimist this time, Cal.”

“Go ahead and tell us your plan,” responded Cal. “I’m always ready for the hopeful prospect if I can find it. What do you propose, Dick?”

“To build a sort of catamaran. It can’t be much of a craft because we have no tools and no fit materials, but these waters are so closely land-locked that all we need is to make something that will float. We can paddle it to the village up there, ten miles or so away, and from there we can walk to the railroad.”

“So far, so good,” said Cal, when Dick ceased to speak. “Go on and tell us the rest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why the ‘how’ of it all. What is the plan of your catamaran, and how are we to make it?”

“Don’t be sceptical, Cal, till you’ve—”

“I’m not sceptical—not a bit. I’m only asking what we are to do and how, so that we may get to work at it early in the morning, or to-night, for that matter, if there’s anything that can be done by fire light. You spoke of our parents awhile ago, and of the alarm they must feel if we don’t get back on time. I’ve been thinking of my mother ever since. She’s an invalid, you know, and a shock of that sort might kill her. So I’m ready to work by night or by day, or both, if it will help to spare her. Go on and tell us your plan.”

“I will. You know, of course, what a catamaran is, so I need not explain that. We will cut two logs, about twelve or fourteen feet long, one of them eight or ten inches thick and the other a mere pole. We’ll hew their ends sharp—boat-fashion—and lay them parallel to each other, seven feet or so apart. We’ll fasten them securely in place with stout poles at the bow and stern and amidships, binding the poles in place with limber vines. That will complete our framework. Then we’ll place a light pole longitudinally on the cross braces and about three feet inside the larger of our two logs. From the log to this pole we’ll construct a light deck of cane on which to stand as we paddle and push the craft along. Of course it will be a rude thing, very hard to manage, but as no part of it will be in the water except the two logs—one a mere pole—it will offer very little resistance, not half as much as a raft would.”

“No, not a tenth,” answered Larry.

“Come on,” said Cal. “We’re burning daylight. This job is yours, Dick, and you are to boss it, but I’ll be foreman of the gang and keep myself and the rest of you at work. We’ll let supper go till after dark, and utilize what’s left of the daylight in cutting cane, vines, poles and whatever else you need. Then we’ll be ready in the morning to cut the logs and begin the work of construction. Hoop la! We’ll be afloat again before the week’s up! Dick, you’re a dandy, and I’ll never accuse you of pessimism again. ‘Look up and not down, forward and not back, out and not in, and lend a hand.’ Dr. Hale put all there is of sound philosophy into that one sentence.”

After the darkness made an end of work for that day the boys sat down gleefully to their supper, and hopefully laid plans for the morrow. Presently Larry jestingly turned to Tom:

“It’s your turn now, Tom. You are credited in this company with something like a genius for finding things at the critical moment when we need them most. Why don’t you bring your abilities to bear on the present situation and find something—a chest of tools or a keg of nails, or something else useful?”

“Perhaps I will,” answered Tom. “Anyhow, I’m going out now to see what I can find in three traps I set yesterday. There have been coon tracks over that way every morning recently, and the gentleman who made them may have walked into one of my traps.”

The boys kept a number of torches ready for lighting, now that the lack of oil rendered the lanterns useless, and taking one of these with him, Tom set out to inspect his traps. He was gone for so long that his comrades were wondering what had become of him, when suddenly he appeared, coming from the direction of the bluff, though he had gone quite the opposite way.

“Did you get your coon?” asked Larry.

“No,” said Tom; “but I found something.”

“What was it, and where is it?”

“Be patient and I’ll tell you about it. After I had looked at my traps it occurred to me that I might as well come back by way of the bluffs, on the chance—”

“Ah, I guess it all,” interrupted Cal. “You found the dory at anchor there and Mr. Dunbar busy polishing his finger nails preparatory to his return to camp. Or perhaps you found a—”

“Stop your nonsense, Cal,” commanded Larry. “Don’t you see that Tom really has something to tell us!”

“Go ahead, Tom; I’m as mum as the Sphinx,” answered Cal, who found it difficult to keep his jubilant spirits within bounds now that he had something to do which promised results.

Tom resumed:

“I don’t know whether it means anything or not, but it’s interesting at any rate and I may as well tell you about it. As I was passing the uprooted catalpa tree, my foot sank into wet sand, and as the sand there had always been as dry as powder, I looked about to see what it meant. To my surprise I saw water trickling out from under the roots of the tree, and I went close up to inspect. As I was looking at the new-born spring my eye was caught by something curiously entangled among the upturned roots of the tree. It was so wound about by the roots and so buried in sand that I could make out its shape only in part, and that with difficulty. To make matters worse my torch was burned out by that time, so that I had only my fingers to explore with. I felt of the thing carefully, and made out that it is a keg of the kind that people sell gunpowder in. But I could get at only a small part of the chine, so I could learn no more about it. We can cut the roots away and dig it out to-morrow.”

“We’ll cut the roots away and dig it out to-night,” answered Cal, rising and lighting a torch. “We have work to do to-morrow and can’t spare time. Besides, this is a mystery and we sha’n’t sleep till we solve it; grab a cold torch each of you and come on. I’ll carry the little ax.”