Chapter 19

THE BOY IN THE HAYMOW

"This is a whole lot better than out there in the downpour," Colon was heard to say, after they had been cowering in the hay for a short time, keeping as close to one another as they could so as to gain additional warmth.

"I should say it was," acknowledged Sid, "and Bristles here is a regular toaster in the bargain. He's as snug and warm as a stove. I'd like to come over and bunk with you, Bristles, some of the coldest winter nights."

"Any boy ought to be warm that's got a decent amount of flesh on him!" declared the one in question; "now, here's Colon who's so thin he hardly throws a shadow at noon; you couldn't expect him to do anything but shake."

"I'd hate to try to sleep in this old place nights," observed Colon, who had been thinking of other things, it seemed, than warmth. "Chances are she's plum full of rats and mice. If you listen real hard, you'll hear 'em carrying on right now, squealin' and squawkin' like."

Accordingly all of them now turned their attention to listening, this avowal on the part of Colon having aroused their curiosity.

"There!" cried the tall boy triumphantly, "didn't you get it that time; and wasn't that a plain rat gurgle, though? They c'n make the queerest noises, seems like, when they want to."

Fred started to move.

"That was no rat, boys," he remarked, in a tone of conviction.

"Wasn't, eh?" exclaimed Colon; "then what'd you call it, Fred?"

"A groan!" replied the other, immediately, at which the others began to sit up, and in various ways denote newly aroused interest.

"A groan, Fred!" echoed Sid.

"Do you mean a human groan?" demanded Bristles.

"There it is again," Fred told them; "if you pay attention, you'll soon say what I do---that it is a human groan."

"But whoever would be grunting like that in this old rookery, I'd like to know?" Bristles continued as though unable to fully grasp the idea.

"For my part," said Fred, bluntly, "I can't explain it. How about you, Colon?"

"Yes, how is that, Colon?" Bristles hastened to add, as if to lend weight to the sudden demand.

"Me? What should I know about a groan, except that I happened to be the first one to notice the same, and thought it was rats fighting?" Colon expostulated.

"Well, for one thing," Fred told him, "we happen to know that some time ago you had a strong notion you could throw your voice, like the fellow on the stage who makes the dummies in the trunk talk, and say funny things. And it struck me that perhaps you might be trying it out on the dog, meaning your good and faithful chums."

That aroused Colon as few other things might have done.

"Give you my word of honor, Fred, I never thought of such a thing," he said, in the most tragic of ways. "You c'n put your ear close to my mouth, and wait till it sounds again, when you'll find I haven't got any hand in that grunting. Maybe it's a poor pig that's half drowned by the rain coming into its pen near by."

"I know how hogs grunt," Fred told him, "and it wasn't along that line at all. This must be a human being in pain!"

"Whew! if we don't just strike queer happenings wherever we go!" declared Bristles, though from his wide-awake manner it was evident that he did not feel at all averse to these lively episodes coming right along, but rather enjoyed the excitement they brought in their train.

"We ought to do something, oughtn't we, Fred?" asked Sid. "If it did turn out there was a sick man in this old shook, and we learned later that he'd died for want of a little attention, we'd feel mighty sorry."

"First of all, back out, everybody," said Fred. "Then once clear of the mow, we can talk it over, and lay some sort of plan. Push along there, Bristles, you're blocking the line of retreat."

Of course Bristles would not stand for this, and so he began to back out, following the line of least resistance, which in this case was the tunnel by means of which they had crept under the haymow.

Once free and clear, the four runners clustered together, and proceeded to listen attentively again, almost holding their breath in the effort to locate the sound that had startled them so.

"There it is, boys!" exclaimed Fred.

"And louder than before," added Colon, "though that may be caused by our coming out from under the hay."

"No, we're certainly closer to it than before," Fred affirmed, "and that proves it to be over this way."

He started slowly forward. The others followed, it is true, but strangely enough not one of them seemed overly anxious to outdistance Fred, and occupy the position of leader.

It quickly became patent that Fred was right when he said the sound came from that end of the old barn, because, as they continued to advance slowly they could hear it louder and louder. The rain had dropped to a mere drizzle, showing that the storm was about to cease shortly, possibly with the same speed that had marked its opening. As the big drops ceased pattering like hail on the roof, sending many a little rivulet through the holes, they could hear much more easily.

"I see something, Fred!" whispered Colon, in a hoarse tone.

He pointed with a trembling finger as he spoke, and directed by this sign-post all of the other boys were able to distinguish an object that seemed to be extended on the hay.

"Looks like a man or a boy!" gasped Bristles.

"I think it is a well-grown boy!" Fred declared. "And now let's find out what ails him, that he keeps on groaning like that."

He held back no longer, but made straight for the object that had caught their attention. As they came up, all of them could see plainly enough that it was a human being, a fairly well-grown boy, who was lying there on his face.

With every breath he seemed to groan, more or less, and occasionally this would rise to a louder key. This latter was the sound that had reached them while they were under the haymow.

Now Fred was bending over the recumbent figure. Gently but firmly he started to turn it over, when a yell broke out.

"My leg! Oh! my leg's broke all to splinters!" they heard the unknown shriek. Then he seemed to shut his teeth hard together, as though determined that not another cry should leave his lips if he died for it.

Fred had always taken more or less interest in matters pertaining to surgery, at least as far as it is desirable that a boy should dabble in such things. He had borrowed many books from Dr. Temple, and on two occasions had set a broken arm in a fashion that won him words of praise from the physician.

"Let me take a look at your leg, please," he said, soothingly, as he bent down over the half-grown boy, who might be the hand about the poor farm, for he looked thin, and illy nourished, as far as Fred could see at a glance. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance to you, poor fellow. I know a little about setting bones, and such things. And we promise to stay with you, and do what we can to help."

He proceeded to make an examination without any delay or squeamishness. The result was that he discovered a serious fracture of both bones of the leg. Fortunately the break was some inches above the ankle, and if properly attended to, would not result in any permanent injury.

Fred did all that was possible under such conditions, while his three chums hovered near, ready to lend a hand whenever he asked it. The injured boy cried out and moaned a number of times during the time Fred was working, but after Fred had made the rudest kind of a splint, and wrapped the leg with some rags torn from an old linen fly-net that was hanging from a hook near by, the wounded lad admitted that he felt a "heap better."

For the first time Fred began to take notice of him other than as a patient. He found that the boy kept his head lowered, as though endeavoring to avoid curious eyes, and Fred wondered why this should be so, when they had certainly proven themselves to be very good friends of his.

The mystery was, however, soon explained, when Colon was heard to give utterance to a sudden exclamation, and cry out:

"Why, what's this? I've sure met this chap before, or my name isn't Colon. It's Tom Flanders, don't you see, Bristles? He's been gone from home a long while now, and his folks didn't know what'd come of him, and to think that he's been working on this measly little old farm in the bush here all the time."

Fred became intensely interested in his patient. He had not happened to know the Tom Flanders mentioned, but then he had heard more or less about him. It was easy enough now to know why the other was so embarrassed. He had been hiding from everybody, no doubt working here under another name, and hearing not a word as to how affairs in Riverport were progressing.

"Are you Tom Flanders?" he asked the other, quickly.

The wounded boy had turned white and then red several times under the flow of fear, distress and other emotions. He now looked into Fred's eyes boldly.

"I s'pose it ain't no use in denyin' that same, because Bristles Carpenter and Colon here know me," he went on to say, doggedly, after drawing a long breath. "Might as well own up anyway, 'cause I reckon I'm goin' to die. They can't send a dying boy to the Reform School, can they?"

"Have you been working here at this place ever since you disappeared from Riverport?" asked Bristles.

"Jest about all the time, and gettin' nigh starved in the bargain, 'case they ain't got enough here to feed us," the boy replied, dejectedly.

"First of all," said Fred, "get that idea out of your head that you're going to die, just because of a plain fractured leg. In a month from now you'll be walking around again, and before three months are gone, you wouldn't know anything had ever happened to you."

"That's right kind o' you to say such nice things, mister," Tom Flanders muttered, "but a feller that's headed straight for the Reform School ain't carin' much whether he lives or dies."

Fred looked around at his three chums.

"We'd better tell him, hadn't we?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Sure, the poor fellow's suffered enough as it is, I reckon," Bristles replied.

"Just what I say too," added Colon.

"So go ahead, Fred, and open his eyes. I only hope it'll be a lesson he'll never forget, and start him along a different road after this," Sid gave as his opinion.

"Look here, Tom," began Fred, "you've been hiding-out for weeks now, and all the time believing that they'd send you to the electric chair or the Reform School at any rate, just because you deliberately shoved that little Willie Brandon into the river, and it looked as if he had been drowned. But Tom, they worked over him long enough to bring him back to life again. You ran away before anyone could tell you, and your folks have been nearly crazy trying to find you. Tom, you can come home again, and nobody's going to punish you. It's all right, Tom, and we'll see that you get to where your folks can have you, before to-night!"

The wretched boy looked at Fred for a full minute as though he could hardly believe the glad tidings; then he began to cry like a baby.