SELF-SACRIFICE

It was a warm muggy night. A pale moon shone dimly through the mists, and the buildings of the school cast long shadows across the campus, giving a weird uncanny effect to the scene, of which the boys were immediately conscious as they came out of the Doctor’s study.

They waited for a moment outside, straining their eyes for a sight of Finch. Suddenly Jimmie discerned a dark figure just disappearing over the brow of the hill. “There he goes,” he cried, “over the hills towards the beach.”

“All right—after him!” urged Tony, and set the pace at a rapid trot. Lawrence and Clavering kept close behind.

In a few moments they had reached the brow of the hill over which Lawrence had seen the figure disappear. They paused for a moment to look about them. Out of range of the lights of the school, the mists were less confusing and the moonlight more effective. Tony was searching the beach with his eyes. “I can’t make out a thing,” he said. “Do you see anything of him, Ned?”

“Not a thing,” Clavering answered. “Are you sure, Jim, you saw him a moment ago?”

“Dead sure. Look there! isn’t that him?”

“Where?”

“Down by the road—near the marshes.” He pointed eagerly.

“Yes, yes,” cried Tony. “Come on. He’s no good at running. We ought to catch him before he reaches the Pond. If he gets to the Woods, there’s no knowing where to find him.”

They started down the hill at a rapid pace.

“He would have to go round the Pond to get into the Woods,” said Clavering as they ran. “The ice is rotten; he can’t cross the Pond. So let’s go to the north and cut him off.”

“You do that, Ned,” suggested Tony. “Cut in at the farmhouse by the head of the Pond; Jim and I will keep right on. He may never stop to think that the ice has gone rotten.”

“All right. Look, he’s slowing up.” They could see with fair distinctness.

Finch, for it was he, had reached the foot of the hill. He paused for a moment, seeming to hesitate between the Old Beach Road and the path across the marshes; and apparently chose the latter, for he crossed the road, and climbed the stone wall. Ignorant that he was so closely followed, he had not been running very fast, so that our friends were rapidly gaining upon him. By the time they had reached the foot of the hill, he was only halfway across the marshes; and was forced to pick his way, for he was not very familiar with the ground, and was handicapped by his frequent stumbling against a stone. In some places the ground was hard and frozen, in others it was wet and muddy.

“Cut across now to the head of the Pond,” said Tony, as the three clambered over the stone wall which divided the marshes from the road. “We can catch him all right.”

Clavering diverged, as Deering suggested, and the other two kept on directly in Finch’s track. It was difficult to run over the uneven ground, and once Jimmie tripped and fell over a boulder, so that they were delayed for a moment. The marshes were about two hundred yards wide, and ended at the high bank which had been built up around Beaver Pond, which was used as a reservoir. Beyond loomed the dark ridges of Lovel’s Woods, ghostly in the pale misty moonlight.

As Finch emerged at last from the uneven, reed-choked ground of the marshes, Tony and Jimmie were scarcely fifty yards behind him. Suddenly he heard the sound of their pattering feet, and turned and stood still like a startled deer to listen. Then, as he made out the dark forms so little behind him, he ran rapidly up the steep bank of the Pond.

“Jake, Jake, wait for me!” Tony called. “It’s Deering—wait a second!”

Finch now on the top of the bank, stopped again. Our two friends out of breath, paused at the bottom. Hardly a dozen yards divided them.

“Wait a second! What’s your hurry?” Tony repeated, starting forward again, but at that very moment his foot caught in a loose stone and he went sprawling, and Jimmie, too late to turn aside, fell on top of him. Finch did not move, but waited a moment, while the two picked themselves up. No damage was done, but they were windless.

“Who are you?” Finch called down.

“It’s me—Tony Deering.”

Again they started to climb the bank. Finch stooped quickly and picked up a couple of enormous stones.

“Stop there!” he cried. “If you come up that bank, I’ll fire this at your head. I mean it.”

The two pursuers stopped involuntarily.

“Throw that rock down. What’s the matter with you?” cried Tony sharply.

“It don’t make any difference. What are you following me for? What do you want with me?”

“I want to know what on earth you are cutting out for like this. What’s the matter? we’re not going to hurt you.”

“No, I know you’re not. Mind—don’t take a step, or I’ll fire this at your head. I’ve chucked the whole thing. I’m clearing out, d’ye hear? I won’t be stopped.”

“Look here, Jake; you’re crazy. Don’t act like——”

“Maybe I am, but that don’t alter the fact that you are not coming up that bank without getting this in your head. I won’t be followed.”

“For goodness’ sake, Jake, listen to reason.” Tony began to advance cautiously.

“Back!” cried Finch. “Get back, if you’ve anything to say.” And he poised the rock threateningly.

Tony stopped a moment, willing to accomplish by persuasion what he was determined to effect by force if need be. “All right,” he agreed. “We’ll cry a truce for a minute. Don’t be an ass, now—tell me what’s the trouble and where you are cutting out to.”

“Who sent you after me?” demanded Finch.

“Mr. Roylston came——”

“Pah!” Jake uttered an exclamation of profound disgust.

“Mr. Roylston,” Tony repeated, “burst into Doctor Forester’s study, and said that you had been abusing him, and that you had lit out some place, and then he came near falling into a faint. So we started after you. This is no way to——”

“Well, I don’t care whether it’s a way or not,” interrupted Finch. “I’m done with the school. I’m chucking it.”

“Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t do it in a fool way like this. Come back and take your medicine like a man.”

“I’m tired of taking medicine,” Finch replied bitterly. “I’ve taken all I ever mean to in that school, anyway.”

“Where are you going?”

“That’s my affair.”

“Well, come back, and you can go off decently to-morrow.”

“No—I’d back down to-morrow like the shivering scared fool I’ve always been. To-night, I’m up to it. I’m going now—to-night.”

“Where?”

“Oh, I dunno—it don’t make any difference—away from here.”

“Look here, Jake; that’s a pretty mean way to treat me—to say nothing of the school.”

“Well, I’m sorry if you feel that way. But I don’t owe the school anything.”

“Yes, you do, a lot; the Doctor—Bill——”

“Back!” cried Finch sharply. “Don’t try to sneak up on me. Let me alone. Maybe I’ll write and let you know where I am. But I am going to cut out to-night.”

Tony glanced at Jimmie who was close by his side. “Let’s risk it, Jim,” he whispered, “he can only hit one of us, I reckon.” “All right—heave ahead!” Jimmie responded in a low tone.

Without wasting further words the two boys began to dash up the steep bank.

“Get down there!” Finch yelled. “I’m going to throw.” He raised his arm, but something paralyzed his vicious intention. It seemed to him that he tried to throw and could not. The big stone fell crashing from his hand, and rolled harmlessly down the bank. Finch turned, and with a cry sprang toward the icy surface of the Pond. When the boys got to the top of the bank, he was already a dozen feet out on the Pond.

“For God’s sake, Jake, don’t try to cross the Pond. The ice is rotten.” Tony and Jimmie were now at the edge of the shore. “The ice is rotten.” Deering repeated, “it can’t hold you.”

“I’m all right enough, I guess,” Finch called back. “I’m light enough. So long!”

The two boys stood breathless, watching the retreating figure.

“What’ll we do,” exclaimed Jimmie, turning a ghastly face to his friend. “It won’t hold him.”

“No, I know it won’t.... Jake! Jake!” Tony called.

There was no reply. “Quick!” exclaimed Deering, “get those planks there—we’ll run ‘em along the ice, and have something to hold to if we go in. We’ve got to follow. Quick, Jim!”

They dashed to a point a few yards up the shore where some heavy planks had been placed by the skaters early in the season to serve as seats in putting on and taking off their skates. It was the work of a second to rip up two of them, and slide them out on the ice in the direction Finch had gone.

By this time the runaway boy was about twenty yards from shore, he had stopped for the moment and was watching them curiously. When he saw them slide the planks out, he started again, heading for the opposite bank from which the dark woods loomed up. They could see him distinctly, trying to slide, his foot catching every second in the soft ice.

Suddenly there was a cry. “There he goes!” cried Jimmie, as Finch disappeared beneath the ice.

They pushed breathlessly, incautiously forward, sending the planks on ahead of them. Finch rose in the middle of the great hole that his plunge had made. They could hear him sputter and see him splash helpless in the pool of dark water and broken bits of rotten ice. He could swim, and had got to the edge of the circle of water, and was clutching desperately at the firmer ice. But each time it gave way, enlarging the hole, but bringing the boy very little nearer his would-be rescuers.

“Stick to it, Jake!” Tony called. “We’ll get you out, if you can hold out. Quick, Jim. Slide the plank out.”

On they went, fearful every instant that they would be in like predicament. “There’s no use,” said Jimmie. “If we only had a rope!”

“Well, we haven’t, and he can’t hold out till we get one.”

At that very second Finch lost his hold again and for the second time slipped beneath the icy waters of the Pond. He came up in a moment, splashing again. “Help, help!” he called despairingly.

“All right—hold out—we’re coming.” They had got the plank well out now toward the struggling boy. “Hold out, Jake—We’ll get it to you.”

Inch by inch they got it nearer. But Finch was becoming exhausted.

“He can’t do it!” cried Jimmie. “Oh, God help us! What shall we do? What shall we do?”

“Look here,” said Tony. “I am going in after him if he goes down again. Keep the plank out and I can get hold of it, and hang on, maybe, till you get back with help. Yell for Ned to stay and help here, if he can. Then run to the farmhouse and get a rope. And for God’s sake, go quick, Jim.”

“Tony! don’t—you can’t!”

“I’ve got to. Hold on, Jake,” he cried again. The end of the plank was at the edge of the hole. Finch clutched at it, but his strength was gone. “I can’t,” he cried feebly, and sank again.

“Do as I told you, now,” said Tony. He ripped off his coat and shoes and was sliding forward. As he neared the hole, suddenly the ice crushed beneath his weight, and he sank into the bitter depths. In a second he was at the surface, and striking out boldly to the spot where Finch had gone down. He dived once, got hold of Finch’s body, clasped it, and with terrible effort got to the surface again. Jimmie had pushed the plank almost within his reach. He clasped it tightly, and managed by its aid to keep his own and Finch’s head above water. Finch seemed lifeless. “A rope, a rope,” called Tony.

Lawrence was already crawling back to the shore, where Clavering, who had heard the commotion, had run down to meet him.

“Finch fell in—Tony’s gone in after him, and he’s got him, and’s clinging to a plank. Do what you can. I’m off for a rope at the Red Farmhouse.”

Clavering took in the situation at a glance. And as Lawrence began to start across the marsh, he began to haul a heavier plank out on the ice, calling out encouragement to Tony as he did so.

Jimmie ran like the wind, and at last reached the farmhouse on the edge of the marshes. “A rope, a rope,” he cried, to the astonished farmer into whose kitchen he had burst. “There’s two boys drowning in the Pond.”

In ten minutes Jimmie, the farmer and his son, were back at the edge of the Pond, with a stout rope which had a noose at the end. “Hurry up!” called Clavering, “he’s holding out.”

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In a moment they were out on the ice and had thrown the noosed rope to Tony, clinging for dear life to the plank. He managed to get it about his shoulders, then the four, the two boys on the ice, and the farmer and his son on the shore, began to pull. It was a struggle, but at last their efforts proved successful and Tony, half-dead with the cold and almost paralyzed from the burden of Finch’s lifeless body, was hauled out on firm ice, and then carried to the shore. There the farmer’s wife had arrived with blankets and whisky. They swathed the two half-drowned boys in the blankets; the farmer and his son picked up Finch, whom they thought was dead; Lawrence and Clavering did the same for Deering, and in a few moments they were at the Red Farm. Mrs. Simpson, the farmer’s wife, had already telephoned for a doctor and to the School.

Soon Doctor Carter, the school physician, and Doctor Forester himself, arrived on the scene. They gave directions for Tony to be well wrapped in blankets and to be taken at once to the school infirmary, and then set to work in the effort to restore Finch to consciousness.

Jimmie drove up to the Infirmary in the farmer’s wagon with Tony, and helped the nurses get him to bed. Then for two hours he waited for the news from the farmhouse. It was after eleven when at last a ring came on the telephone. Jimmie sprang to the receiver. It was Doctor Forester, wanting the head nurse. “Finch is just living,” he said. “We will bring him up later. Tell the nurse I wish to speak to her.”