CHAPTER IX.

GUS IN THE LIME-LIGHT.

This lasted only a short while. Then a change came about that put quite another face on the matter, and one that looked much less rosy.

Gus, hovering close behind the others, trying to figure out how his brother was going to take it when he eventually learned of his identity, and heard the message he was bringing from their devoted mother—Gus felt his heart apparently jump up into his mouth, when he saw that Sam had drooped, and was hanging helplessly on his guardians.

Undoubtedly Nature had played out, and the exhausted young fellow could not go another step of his own volition. He had been sick of late, and besides that must have suffered considerable privations while leading that roving, reckless life into which he had latterly drifted.

Had Billy been present his first remark would probably have been, “here’s a pretty kettle of fish.” On the part of Gus it was a feeling of intense dismay that gripped his anxious heart. Still that confidence in Hugh Hardin remained, and so long as the scout master stood by there was really no reason to give way to utter despair.

He waited only long enough to make sure that they were lowering their charge to the ground. Gus had no fear that two such staunch fellows as his chums would dream of giving up the game and deserting Sam then and there; they were not made of such base stuff as that.

He could see that they had their heads together, and eager to learn what was in the wind, he pushed up very close, so that he could catch their words. It was, of course, necessary to almost shout so as to be heard, and sometimes a sentence was utterly drowned by the crash of falling timber close by. Nevertheless this is about what the strained ears of Gus caught.

“He’s all in and done for, that’s sure, Hugh,” Arthur was saying.

“No question about that,” the other went on to say. “I began to guess it was coming from the way he hung on us. He couldn’t walk ten steps further if his life depended on it. Poor chap, he’s game, though!”

“Then I reckon we’ll have to carry him,” cried Arthur. “The only trouble about that is it’s always mighty hard to get a proper grip on a limp body, and walk for any distance. And I’m afraid it’s going to tax us to the limit to do that same thing, with this wind blowing forty ways for Sunday.”

“No use talking, we ought to have some sort of stretcher,” Hugh admitted. “That’s what makes me feel silly, because of all the things I thought to fetch along the camp hatchet wasn’t among the lot.”

“Too bad,” said Arthur. “What under the sun will we do about it, Hugh? To make a stretcher without anything to cut poles with is going to be a tough job.”

“Oh! Hugh, Arthur, I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” shouted Gus just then, so excited that he could hardly frame his words coherently.

From his actions any one might think Gus had suddenly been bitten by a rattlesnake, for he was jumping wildly up and down, and seemed to be pawing at his leg in a most idiotic manner.

“Got what?” burst from the astonished Arthur.

“The hatchet, don’t you know!” came the answering whoop. “I don’t understand why I ever thought to snatch it up, and tote it along, but say, I’m mighty glad now I did. See, here it is, Hugh, and oh! I’m ever so pleased to handle it.”

When the scout master heard that he gave a shout of joy.

“You’ve saved the day, I tell you, boy!” he exclaimed, slapping the delighted Gus heartily on the back. “It was an inspiration that made you think of the hatchet. The credit of the whole undertaking rests on your shoulders, Gus! Here, give me the blade, and see me get busy.”

“By great good luck,” added Arthur, also decidedly pleased by the new twist fortune had taken in their behalf, “here are all the poles we need close by, though without that hatchet they might as well have been in Africa.”

Hugh had not wasted a second of time.

“You look after Sam, both of you, and rub his limbs,” he told his chums. “Leave the cutting of the poles to me, though I’ll need help when it comes to binding them together.”

He said no more than the law allowed, because it was a most arduous task to do any sort of decent talking in the midst of all that clamor. Already Hugh had turned in the quarter where Arthur’s extended finger had pointed at the time he spoke of the “poles” being conveniently near by.

Long practice had made the scout master a clever hand at using a hatchet. When a fellow has cut cords and cords of wood for campfires from time to time, he gets considerable experience in swinging both ax and hatchet. Besides, Hugh always took especial pains to have every tool he handled well sharpened, under the plea that a good working edge saved “heaps” of muscle.

The “poles” mentioned by Arthur were really second-growth ash springing up all around the butts of several trees that had been cut down a year or so ago by the lumbermen. They grew straight up, and would possibly have been used sooner or later by any nomad hoop-pole man wandering that way in search of material to eke out his scanty winter’s wages.

One after another those slender but stout saplings fell before the keen edge of the camp hatchet wielded so skillfully by the scout leader.

When Hugh considered that he had felled enough of the stuff, he paused and began to fumble in his pockets. There was no doubt about his action this time, because he knew full well he had hurriedly thrust a bundle of stout cord somewhere about his person before starting forth, under the conviction that it was going to come in handy.

Meanwhile, Arthur, assisted by Gus, had been rubbing the limbs of poor Sam, who could not raise his weak voice loud enough to make himself heard, but by certain gestures gave them to understand that he appreciated their efforts in his behalf.

“You go and help Hugh, while I stay by Sam, and keep the circulation of his blood up!” Arthur shouted in the ear of Gus.

The latter, while a little loth to turn aside, knew that he could do more to help his brother that way than by lingering over him. Accordingly he hastened to join Hugh, who was already busily engaged in trying to fasten some of the poles, so as to make the framework upon which the real stretcher would immediately afterwards be constructed.

Every scout is taught how to do this, for it is a very useful accomplishment to know, since there is no telling when one of their number may meet with some accident while in the woods, necessitating his being carried, perhaps a distance of several miles, and on such an occasion a stretcher is invaluable.

Possibly, if left to himself, even Gus, although not claiming to be adept at this sort of work, with the aid of a greenhorn, might have made some sort of clumsy contrivance that would have answered the end in view. Fortunately there was now no need of his depending on himself when in the company of such a clever artisan as Hugh Hardin.

The latter had made stretchers on numerous occasions, but if asked later about it he would certainly have admitted that never in all his experience had he worked under such a serious handicap as when that storm howled about his ears, taking his very breath away.

Gus managed to make himself useful in holding the pieces that were thrust into his hands, as well as in other ways. His heart was in the work, and for a good reason. It was his own brother whose life lay in the balance. He, Hugh and Arthur might survive the night, even if compelled to remain out in the gale, with the mercury constantly sinking, but such exposure would undoubtedly be the finish of sick Sam.

The job was really completed in a wonderfully short time, considering all the difficulties Hugh faced. He often mentally congratulated himself afterwards on that task, and Hugh ought to be a pretty fair judge of such things.

Gus, however, was laboring under such a strain that it seemed an interminable time before he knew from the actions of his comrade that Hugh considered the rude stretcher fit for service.

The next thing was to get Sam on the same. Of course, the stretcher had no legs, so that it had to be laid directly on the ground. That mattered little or nothing, however, for in all probability it would only be required for this one occasion.

“Got it ready, have you, Hugh?” was the boisterous way Arthur greeted the others when they came hurrying up with the clumsy but serviceable stretcher held between them.

“Just as I promised, and done with a rush, too, but it’s going to hold all right. How is Sam getting along?” Hugh asked, his lips close to the other’s ear.

“He’s recovering some from his weak spell,” came the reply, as Arthur drew the scout master’s head down near his lips. “But he never could walk it, never, Hugh. The sooner we get him under cover the better I’ll be pleased, for I’m afraid he’s in a bad way.”

It was lucky for the peace of mind of Gus Merrivale that he did not overhear those last words spoken by Arthur. The sense of exultation and triumph that was filling his brotherly heart would have received a rude jolt had he suspected that Arthur, so experienced a physician, considered the case of Sam as bordering on the desperate.

They quickly placed the almost helpless young fellow on the litter. He tried the best he could to assist himself, but if the success of the undertaking had depended on Sam’s ability to do things it would have been an utter failure.

Gus pushed forward, and somehow Hugh seemed to be able to sense what was in his mind, for he immediately jerked at Arthur’s sleeve and called in his ear:

“Let Gus have the rear end of the stretcher, Arthur. He wants to feel that he’s having a big share in saving a life, and it’s an old story with us, so you won’t miss anything.”

Arthur was only too willing. He was one of those fellows who like to go about doing their work without the least bluster or boasting. Indeed, times without number Arthur Cameron had been known to do his best to hide his light under a bushel; for he took much more satisfaction from the inward consciousness that he had done his part manfully than in the thought of any reward.

When Gus realized that he was to be allowed to handle one end of the litter on which his erring brother was stretched he showed by his eagerness that his heart must be filled with gratitude toward these fine chums who were always doing things to please others.

Hugh himself took the forward end, with Arthur going ahead in order to pick out the easiest path, though truth to tell there was very little choice, so long as they were compelled to keep the creek on their right.

Manfully did Gus struggle along. If he staggered at times under the many difficulties that beset his wavering feet it was only to shut his teeth together harder than ever, and mentally take a fresh grip on himself. All that was best in the lad’s nature came to the surface in that trying hour, and he rose to meet the occasion in a manner that was bound to give him great satisfaction later on, when memory again brought the thrilling episodes of that stormy night vividly before his mind.

Thus stumbling, yet always pushing onward, they gradually drew nearer the vicinity of the old lumber camp, though poor Gus feared he would never be able to hold out to the end.