  The situation, though alarming, did not dismay Mr. Livingston or the two Scouts. Knowing that the washed-out log bridge was not far from the mining camp, they reasoned that Willie and War soon would become aware of their plight. “We’re stranded here for awhile, that’s certain,” Mr. Livingston commented, staring at the foaming waters. “It won’t be easy to build another bridge across that span.” “Assuming that Rhodes will assign his men to the task,” added Ken gloomily. “He’ll probably be tickled pink that we’re bottled up here.” “Queer that bridge went out just when it did,” muttered Jack. “It seemed sturdy and secure early this morning when we passed over. Guess the current must be even stronger than we figured.” For an hour, the Scouts took turns flashing signals with their lights. The distant mining camp was completely blocked from view by trees and rocks. They had little hope that the flashes would be seen, but did think that War and Willie, alarmed by their long absence, might venture toward the river to investigate. “We’re bushed,” Mr. Livingston declared, after the effort to attract attention had proved futile. “Let’s try to sleep. In the morning, we can find a way to get help or to rescue ourselves.” Following Phillipe’s example, Ken and Jack sought shelter. The night was bitterly cold. Nevertheless, in their thickly lined sleeping bags, they spent fairly comfortable hours. When they awakened at dawn, Mr. Livingston had the fire built, and was preparing a hot breakfast. Stretching their cramped limbs, Jack and Ken went down to the river to wash. As they bent down to dash the icy water on their faces, the torrent rushed past, foaming and hissing. “This stream is plenty swift,” Ken remarked. “Too deep to wade across, and a fellow couldn’t hope to swim it, either.” “Rapids and whirlpools below here,” Jack reminded him. “Rhodes told me that. He probably was telling the truth too.” “It’s darn funny War and Willie don’t take any interest in what became of us,” Ken went on, scanning the rugged shoreline. “Wouldn’t you think they’d see the smoke from our fire?” “Probably not up yet,” Jack rejoined with forced cheer. “You know how War is—with no one to pull him out of bed, he’d sleep until noon.” “Even so, he and Willie must have realized that something went wrong with our plans. Common sense would tell ’em we’re in trouble.” “Maybe not, Ken. You remember, Mr. Livingston told them we might be gone over night.” “What bothers me, is how are they going to help us even after they discover our situation? One can’t build a bridge in five minutes.” “We’ll have to risk a raft probably.” “And maybe be swept down into the whirlpool. No thanks!” The two Explorers rejoined Mr. Livingston and Phillipe, who were dishing up breakfast. The meal revived everyone’s spirits. “What’s the plan?” Jack questioned the Scout leader. “We’ll send up some smoke signals,” Mr. Livingston advised. “That should draw attention to our plight.” The morning was clear and windless. Knowing that a column of smoke would rise high, the Scouts were hopeful that despite the rim of mountain peaks, it would be visible at the mining camp. “War and Willie will soon know we’re in trouble,” Ken asserted, starting to gather an armful of dry twigs. Jack already was accumulating a pile of green leaves and had dampened a blanket at the stream. With everything in readiness, the group built up their fire and when it was burning briskly, threw on the leaves. A heavy column of smoke arose. After a moment, Jack and Ken interrupted the smoke by means of the blanket. Over and over they flashed a distress signal. “We should be getting a reply soon now,” Jack asserted, anxiously scanning the sky in the direction of the mining camp. For fifteen minutes, the Scouts kept up the signals. Then, as the smoke column faded away, they continued to watch for a response. None came. “Our signals must have been seen at the camp,” Mr. Livingston declared. “I can’t understand it. What’s happened to War and Willie?” More disturbed than at any time since they had found themselves stranded, the Scout leader went down to the stream’s edge. He studied the swift current and then directed attention to the spot where the log bridge had washed out. Only a few broken wires remained. These he carefully examined. “This bridge didn’t wash out,” he told Jack, who had followed him over the slippery rocks. “It was weakened deliberately?” “Looks that way, Jack.” Mr. Livingston showed him where the wires had been snipped with a cutter. “Rhodes?” “I’d guess so. He may be on his feet by this time, or he could have ordered his men to let the bridge go.” “Willie and War wouldn’t have stood for that.” “Not if they could have prevented it. But they haven’t answered our smoke signals. I’m afraid they may be in trouble too.” “It might suit Rhodes very well to have us stranded on this side of the river.” “We know he didn’t swallow our story about looking for Appleby Corning,” Mr. Livingston nodded. “He must have suspected we were searching for the old mine. Now he intends to keep us stranded until he and his wife can get away.” “We’re stranded, all right,” Jack muttered, staring at the boiling waters. “No big trees close by, even if we could fell one and cross on its trunk.” “We can’t stay here much longer,” Mr. Livingston said. “Willie and War may need us as much as we need them. We’ve got to get back to camp!” “A raft?” “It’s our best bet, I think. We’re all good swimmers, with exception of Phillipe. The current is swift, but I think we can make it.” The Scouts set to work, pegging out a rounded shape, somewhat smaller than a waterproof tarp included in their equipment. This accomplished, they used dry twigs and small pieces of wood to fill in between the pegs, and lashed it all firmly together with stout twine. Next, they built a floor of webbed sticks and then removed the pegs. Finally the bundle was slid onto the waterproof tarp which was lashed securely in place around the circle. As the last step, they attached a long rope. “Not a bad little raft,” Jack declared, surveying the finished job. “She should carry one of us at a time without trouble.” Mr. Livingston offered to go first, but the others would not have it so. Jack insisted that he was the strongest swimmer, and after some argument, the Scout leader reluctantly agreed that he might make the initial trip. Phillipe, meanwhile, had hacked out a crude paddle. With Ken and Mr. Livingston holding an end of the rope, Jack settled himself firmly on the circular tarp raft, and shoved off. The fast current caught the craft, whirling it. For a minute, Jack was afraid he was going under. Icy water splashed over his legs. The awkward craft twisted and turned in the grasp of the racing stream. Paddling desperately, he regained control. Without disaster, he reached the opposite shore, though some distance down stream. Ken, Phillipe and Mr. Livingston promptly pulled the raft back to their side of the shore. The Scout leader next made the trip across, followed by Ken. Phillipe, desperately afraid of the racing water, had to be coaxed before he too attempted the stream. All went well until the miner was close to shore. Then unexpectedly, the make-shift paddle snapped, leaving him with a useless stub of wood. A gasp of horror escaped his lips as the current viciously seized the little craft. “Throw the rope!” shouted Jack, running along the jagged rocks at the stream’s edge. Paralyzed with fear, Phillipe sat frozen. He fancied he could hear the roar of rapids below and was certain he would be swept to his doom. “Throw the rope!” Jack yelled again. “Quick!” Recovering from paralysis, Phillipe suddenly hurled the free end toward shore. His throw was powerful. To the relief of the Scouts, the rope fell on the rocks, and they were able to seize it. Fighting the current, they slowly pulled the raft to safety. Dripping wet and shivering from terror, Phillipe stumbled out onto shore. “Gracias Senors,” he mumbled, collapsing in a shivering heap. “You save my life!” “We may have saved you a wild ride down the canyon,” Jack conceded as he salvaged the water-soaked tarp. “This rope is badly frayed. A few more hard jerks against the sharp rocks and it would have been cut in half.” After wringing out their damp clothes, the Scouts started for the mining camp. Passing the locked, deserted office, they went on to the tent area. “No fire,” Ken observed from a distance. “No one around, either.” Slightly in advance of the others, he went quickly to the tent occupied by Willie and War. Everything was in order. But no one was there. Meanwhile, Jack and Mr. Livingston had been looking around outside. The fire, they noted in alarm, had been dead many hours. “Where are they?” Jack demanded. “What’s happened to War and Willie?” “Rhodes must know!” Mr. Livingston asserted, his voice grim. “Come on fellows! We’re going to have a show-down with him right now!” |
|
