CHAPTER XII

THE WANDERINGS OF BUMPUS

Bumpus managed to find the spring all right, for he kept on the alert. After satisfying his thirst, and starting back, he must have lost his bearings in some manner; perhaps on account of lying down on the side of the water that appealed most to him, and then making a mistake in commencing his return trip.

He did not realize this until he had been following what seemed to be the winding path for fully five minutes without coming to anything that looked familiar.

Then Bumpus was overwhelmed with chagrin. He could already picture Giraffe laughing at him if he raised his voice and called to the others to let him know where the camp lay. So he grimly determined to keep still, and find it for himself.

“Sure, I can do that without much trouble,” he told himself in a confident tone. “I know now where I made the mistake; and by turning to the right sharply I’ll come in on them from the other side. If Giraffe asks me why I did that I’ll give him to understand I was only scouting around a bit to see what the ground looked like.”

So with his mind temporarily relieved Bumpus once more commenced to push on. He found it harder going, now that he had abandoned what he had believed to be the trail to and from the spring. But Bumpus was very persevering, as most stout fellows seem to be, once they get going. He labored on until another ten minutes had slipped past. Still there was no sign of the spot where he had left his three comrades.

Again did he try to figure out where he had made a blunder. Why, this thing was really getting to be a big joke, and Bumpus feared he would have to face the music of Giraffe’s scorn after he did manage to find the rest. For even then his confidence in ultimate success had not been wholly chilled; it was only a matter of time, and figuring things out.

He tried to determine if he could find the location of the road. This he might easily have done had there been any travel over it just then; but unfortunately the guns were growling almost continuously, so that try as he would he failed to discover any sound of moving vans or advancing batteries going to the front, it might be Red Cross hospital ambulances rapidly speeding toward Paris with their loads of grievously wounded partisans.

When a full half hour had slipped by, as near as Bumpus could gauge time, he began to realize that after all he had actually lost himself, a thing he had so loudly boasted could never happen again.

Bumpus was thoroughly disgusted. He hated to lift his voice and try to attract the attention of his friends. It would make him feel like one of the helpless babes in the woods to cry for help, and wait there until one of his chums came out to pilot him into camp.

“Well,” he was saying to himself in a bitter vein, “of all the chumps you certainly take the cake, Bumpus Hawtree. Now if this were out there among the Rockies, or in one of the big Maine woods, there might be a little excuse for your getting mixed in your bearings; but to think of doing it over here in a silly little French forest! After this I’d better get them to attach a horn to my neck, so I can blow a blast whenever I step out of camp, and let them know where I’m at.”

Although heartily ashamed at being compelled to do so, he even throttled his chagrin enough to raise his voice and try to shout. Somehow or other the effort did not seem to be much of a success. His voice was husky, so that he could not do himself justice; and then again those rival guns kept up such a constant booming sound that it muffled his cries to a great extent.

At any rate, after keeping this up for a stretch, Bumpus grew disconsolate and determined not to bother any more.

“I’ll just paddle around a while longer, hoping that something may turn up to give me a pointer,” he told himself, trying to appear careless as to results. “But if in the end I fail, why, me to curl up and put in the rest of the night here. I guess it won’t rain on me; and once morning comes I’ll find a road that’ll take me somewhere.”

After that he pushed on again, trying a new tack, which seemed to promise better results. He could tell where the north lay easily enough; on account of all the firing that was going on; yes, and doubtless Paris was in the opposite quarter, although he failed to discover signs in the sky to indicate this fact, such as may usually be found where there is a big electric-lighted city. The trouble with Bumpus was he could not tell for the life of him whether his three chums might be found to the north, east, or west; and that made two chances to one that he was going wrong.

He figured that much more than an hour must have elapsed since he became—he was going to say “bewildered,” but on second thoughts pronounced that disagreeable word, “lost.” For aught he knew his chums might be a mile or two away from him by that time. Bumpus was also getting pretty tired. His feet felt like clogs, since he was never an extra good walker.

“Well, I’ve got to come to it, I guess,” he finally observed, as he wiped his streaming brow with his big red bandanna. “I’ll just push on about five minutes longer, for it strikes me the woods seem lighter ahead there. Now it would be a fine thing if after all I ran onto the road.”

Breaking his way through a jungle of creepers, he presently made a discovery that started his heart to beating faster than its wont. Sure enough he had come upon a road. It did not seem to run from north to south, as that one had upon which they stood at the time they watched the fluctuations of the terrible battle. However, a road of any kind encouraged Bumpus.

“I may find some sort of house on it,” he conjectured, sucking in fresh hope; “where the folks would consent to take me in, give me a royal feed, and even supply me with a cot for the night.”

That delightful thought buoyed up his drooping spirits wonderfully, so that he started along the road filled with high hopes. Ten minutes afterwards he made another pleasant discovery. There was a building to one side of the road. True, he failed to discover the first sign of any light about it, but entering the lane leading amidst shrubs and trees, he approached the structure.

His surprise increased as he drew closer. It was a very large building, and made of stone at that, as most houses in France seem to be, for wood is seldom ever used, being too expensive and not lasting enough.

“Say, looks a heap like it might be some queer old rookery, with a tower up there in the centre,” Bumpus observed, as he stopped to stare again, having come close to the structure by this time. “I wonder if this is some sort of sanitarium like the one up there in Antwerp where mother stayed? Anyway, I guess it’s deserted, all right. Mebbe the military authorities have ordered the folks to clear out, because it happens to interfere with gun range. Now, I wonder had I better try to find a bed in here, or go on further?”

His tired condition forced him to make a decision in favor of a stop. And once he had really decided, Bumpus lost no time in putting his plan into execution.

There was no trouble about getting into the building, for the door stood invitingly open as though hospitality might be a leading feature connected with the people who had formerly lived here.

Bumpus had some matches with him, and once he found himself in a broad hall he struck one. This showed him that beyond lay a flight of stairs leading to the upper story. Still not a sign of anything moving. Bumpus was more convinced than ever that he had the whole building to himself.

“I’m too dead tired and sleepy now to prowl around looking for any grub,” he observed, with a sigh; “and a bed is about the best thing I can think of. When morning comes along, why, I’ll skirmish about, and see if I can’t pick up a few bites; for sure there must be a kitchen connected with such a big old establishment; and the cook may have forgotten to clean it out entirely.”

He dragged his heavy feet up the stone stairs. At the time he vaguely wondered why everything about him was so severe and cold and plain; and made up his mind that living in such a sanitarium would be almost like being in prison. A tired boy, however, could hardly be expected to bother his head very much over such things. If only he could find some sort of bed, he would not be so very particular, for Bumpus believed he did not “care whether school kept or not.”

Once above and he found that there was a long narrow, gloomy corridor, with numerous open doors on either side, all exactly alike. Other matches were used to show him what lay inside the rooms.

“Why!” he exclaimed, after he had investigated several of these apartments, “I declare if they don’t look like regular prison cells. But each has got an iron cot in it, and I’m bound to keel over right soon if I don’t find rest somewhere. So here goes.”

There was really little choice when it came to selecting one of the “cells” for sleeping purposes. Bumpus tried the cot, and found that while it was a bit hard he could easily accommodate himself to that.

The last the tired boy remembered was chuckling over the thought of Giraffe saying, “I knew he’d get lost.” Time passed away, and then suddenly Bumpus sat up on the cot, awakened by a strange, thrilling and most astonishing sound.