CHAPTER XXIX

WONDERFUL TIDINGS

THE man was so weak that presently he sank back and seemed to sleep.

"Is he going to die?" asked Sandy, alarmed at his looks.

"Not just now," replied his brother, shaking his head as he spoke. "You felt that heat of the fire yourself; and you see it has sent him to sleep. Here, cover him with my blanket. It is dry now, and will keep him warm."

Leaving the stranger, who as yet had not spoken a word, the boys turned their attention to the leaky canoe. They knew how the Indians managed to stop any such openings in their light boats, made of birch bark or buffalo hides; and Bob had been wise enough to carry along some of the necessary pitch when starting out on this journey of exploration.

"Do you ever forget anything?" demanded Sandy, when he saw his brother produce the needed material for mending their boat, and start heating it over the fire.

"Oh! yes, often," replied Bob, cheerfully; for he knew his own faults, even if Sandy refused to see them. "And it was possible that we would run on a snag that would punch a hole in the boat; so I came prepared to mend it."

The boat had been carried near the fire some time before, in order that it might dry out. When the conditions were right Bob set to work. He had asked Blue Jacket many questions regarding repairing canoes, when the young Shawanee brave was a guest under the Armstrong roof; and what he had learned proved of considerable value to him now.

"How will it hold?" asked Sandy, who was hovering near, eager to lend a hand if his brother needed help.

"I think it will be stronger than ever," came the reply.

"That was always a weak spot, I remember. Once, I thought my foot was going to break through," declared Sandy, reminiscently.

"Just as you say. I noticed it myself, and that was one mistake I made. I should have put this patch on before we started on our trip," and Bob stood back to survey his work.

"Well," remarked the younger lad, as his eyes went out over that tumbling flood, on which the trees were swiftly passing in procession, "we will need a good stout boat if we hope to get over there. Do you think we can manage it, Bob? I'd be willing to take some chances rather than stay here a week, perhaps two, and have mother crying her eyes out for us the while."

"I see no reason why we shouldn't make it," came Bob's reply. "The current heads toward our shore. Besides, with three to paddle, we should be able, foot by foot, to get over. And when we once leave the middle of the river it will not be so bad."

"Three! Then you expect that our new friend will be able to help out?" and Sandy glanced toward the sleeping stranger.

"Surely. After he wakes up he will be stronger. And he does not look like one who would shirk. He must have struggled hard to reach that place where we found him. Perhaps he saw our fire through the trees, or heard you shout. That was what made him cry out."

Bob had picked up a hatchet as he spoke, and started to move off.

"Let me cut some more fuel," objected Sandy, as he tried to take the tool from the other's hands.

"It isn't that," said Bob. "I am going to look for a piece of wood that can be chopped into new paddles. We need three of them, you see, and it is going to be a long job to fashion them, with only a hatchet and a jackknife to work with."

"Then I will go along. Perhaps two pair of eyes may be better than one in looking for the spruce pine," declared the younger brother, eagerly.

And so it proved, for Sandy was the one to discover the tree they sought. Bob could figure just how the paddles might be hewn out, and he attacked the tree in a spirited way that soon encompassed its fall.

When he tired, Sandy took a turn; and in this fashion they finally had three pieces, in the rough, which Bob declared would make very good paddles. And by slow degrees the first one was shaped until it only needed whittling with a knife to complete the job.

"That seems all right," declared Sandy, as he proceeded to try the blade; "and I give you my word that it is far stronger than either of the ones we lost. I mean to fasten my paddle, this time, to my wrist with a bit of buckskin thong, and then, even if I lose my grip, it will never get away."

"A clever idea," answered Bob, pausing in his work to wipe his brow, and smile at his brother; "and it will pay us all to do the same. Was it not father who told us how an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure? And once a paddle gets caught in the clutch of that river it can never be recovered again."

"See!" exclaimed Sandy, "our friend is stirring! He is sitting up, and staring around him. I think he can hardly understand where he is, and how he came to cheat the river of a grave. Now he sees us, and smiles. Bob, there is something I like about that man, stranger though he is. I seem to feel that he is a friend, and that we will always be glad we rescued him to-day."

"I am sure of that. There, the second paddle is about done. I am tired of the work, so let us go over to make the acquaintance of our guest. He is beckoning to us," and Bob dropped his hatchet to obey the summons.

The stranger held out both hands, while his bearded face lighted up with a smile that, as Sandy had said, was very winning.

"How can I ever thank you, boys, for what you have done?" he said, as he pressed a hand of each. "But for you I should have passed over to the other side."

"Please do not say anything more," replied Bob, who could not bear to be praised for simply doing his duty. "Who may you be, and how did it happen that we found you among the tree-tops at the head of this island?"

"My name is Silas Hemphill. With a party of others I was on my way down the river in a dugout canoe, intending to join our fortunes with the new settlers from Virginia, who lately came overland. We left Fort Pitt two days back, and were progressing fairly when this storm broke upon us. Doubtless we took too many chances, for we presently found ourselves in the grasp of the river, and could not return to shore."

He paused a minute to get a grip on himself, and then continued:

"Finally our boat was overturned. Heaven alone knows what became of my two companions; but I fear they must have been drowned. Only by the rarest of good fortune, and the favor of Providence, was I able to keep afloat until cast up amid the tree-tops where you found me."

"But why did you shout? Surely you could not imagine that any one would be on this island to hear you?" asked Sandy, curious still.

"I did not know then it was an island. And it seemed to me that I had heard a voice calling, which I supposed must belong to one of my friends who had luckily gained a footing on the shore. That was why I cried out, for I was frantic. But I fear much that I am the only survivor of the three voyagers."

The newcomer was eying them in turn curiously.

"And now," he said, "I would like to know your names; for I shall never forget what I owe you both. I can see that you must be brothers, for there is some resemblance between you; though I should say that this one," indicating Sandy, "probably takes after his mother; while the other is more like his father. This without knowing who your parents may be."

"My name is Alexander, though they always call me Sandy. We are the sons of David and Mary Armstrong."

As Sandy spoke Silas Hemphill's eyes took on a new glow, and again he thrust out both hands to seize those of the boys.

"How wonderful are the ways of Providence!" he muttered, in a way that gave the listening boys a start. "To think that my life should have been saved by the sons of David Armstrong, of all men!"

"Then you know our father?" demanded Bob.

"No, I have never met him," came the reply. "But I have heard much about him in the country I happened to pass through while on my way here from Carolina, where my former home lay."

The rescued man looked at them both, and Bob was thrilled to see tears in his eyes. Why should this stranger be so moved at sight of David Armstrong's two boys? He spoke of having heard about their father--could that have been down in Virginia, in the town which had been so cruel to the man who valued his honor as he did his very life?

Bob saw a faint gleam of light. He hardly dared believe it at first, in fear lest it prove only a hollow mockery. Still, he could not resist saying:

"You say you heard much about our father, sir,--was it to his credit that these things were said; or did they tell you the hateful, lying stories that drove him to come far away from those who were once his neighbors and friends?"

"My boy, I heard that which your father would give much to know. While I stopped for a few days in the town where you dwelt, there was a serious fray in a place where strong drink was sold. One man, a black, was badly wounded. His name was Scipio, Black Scipio he was called, and he used to work in the same tobacco warehouse where David Armstrong was employed. Before he died the man confessed that it was _his_ hand that fired the barn, for the destruction of which your father was blamed. And now Jason Diggett, conscience stricken for having driven an honest man into exile, wishes to hear from your father in order that he make amends, in so far as pounds, shillings and pence may heal the wound!"