Young Hunters in Porto Rico/Chapter 17
CHAPTER XVII.
IN WHICH DANNY IS RESCUED.
"Danny has fallen into the river!"
"Danny! Danny! can you save yourself?"
"The little fellow will be drowned!"
"He shan't be drowned, not if I ean help it," burst out Bob. He had not forgotten how Danny had saved him from harm, while they were skating on the lake at home the winter before.
He sprang toward Carlos Remora, who carried over his shoulder one of the long ropes which Robert Menden had requested should be taken along, for possible use in the caves to be visited.
At one end was a loose noose, and holding this in readiness, he ran some distance below the spot where the Irish lad had disappeared.
The others followed him, but Dick thoughtfully took to the other side of the watercourse, thinking that perhaps he might be able to render additional assistance from that point.
All realized Danny's peril. His friends knew that he could swim, but swimming would be of small help in that rushing, roaring torrent, with its sharp rocks and snags of fallen trees. Should his head strike on one of the rocks they felt that all would be over.
The banks of the stream were several feet high, of broken stones and black dirt, and to get down to the water's edge was not easy.
Yet Bob was undaunted and leaped straight down, at the risk of a broken or twisted ankle. Danny must be rescued at any cost.
"Danny! Where are you?"
One and another uttered the cry, but no answer came back. The truth was, that the Irish lad had been carried so far under that his head had struck, and now he was more than half unconscious and unable to do more than gasp for breath, and that meant to merely take in water.
"There he is!"
It was Don who uttered the cry. He pointed to the center of the stream, where a fallen tree projected several feet over the surface.
The Irish boy was struggling between the half decayed branches, but was too weak to clear himself.
"He's going to drown as sure as fate!" muttered old Jacob. "Perhaps I had better go in fer him!"
"No, no; I'll go in!" cried Bob, and slipped the rope around his waist. In a second more he had entered the water, which at this point boiled in a milky-white foam.
At the shore it was not over three feet deep, yet he found that it was all he could do to keep his feet. The bottom was of rock, worn smooth by constant rubbing. Out and out he went, foot by foot, until half the distance to the fallen tree was covered.
He was now up to his armpits, and could no longer keep his footing. With a dash he set out to swim the remainder of the distance.
Never had brave Bob undertaken a more difficult task. As though he were a feather, the force of the current carried him downward until he was almost past the extreme end of the half-sunken tree.
A wild splash and one hand caught the last branch. At first it looked as if he would be torn loose. But he held on like grim death, and slowly, but surely, pulled himself closer to where Danny rested.
"Oh, Bob, save me; please do!"
The Irish boy's words were scarcely intelligible. He had raised himself up so that his head was clear, but could do no more, and was in immediate danger of sinking back again.
"I'll save you, Danny; keep your courage," was Bob's reply, and coming closer, the youth drew the Irish lad still further up, to a point of temporary safety.
Old Jacob and several of the others had caught hold of the end of the rope, which Bob had left with them. Now the rope was entangled about the half-sunken tree, and the boy had his hands full in trying to disengage it and support Danny at the same time.
"Be careful, Bob, or you'll both go down!" shouted Robert Menden. "That tree may not be as secure as you imagine."
The Englishman had scarcely spoken when there came a dull crack, and the upper portion of the tree turned over and disappeared from view, to emerge again twenty feet below the spot.
Bob and Danny were hurled headlong, and, caught in the foaming and raging torrent, went over and over.
"Pull on that rope!" yelled Dick, and plunged in to the rescue of his two friends.
The three boys came together at a spot where a small rock appeared several inches above the foam. All had hold of the rope, but Bob and Dick had to support the Irish lad between them, for he was on the point of becoming totally unconscious.
The others pulled upon the rope with might and main, and slowly but surely the human freight came shoreward, at a point some distance below where old Jacob and the others stood.
At last they were at a point where the water was not over three feet deep, and Bob and Dick staggered out to a grassy spot and deposited Danny on his back.
The Irish lad's eyes were closed and he did not move.
"He's full of water, I reckon!" cried old Jacob, and forthwith began to roll the boy, and then held him up by the ankles. By this means Danny got rid of considerable of the element he had swallowed; but it was a good hour before he came to his senses, and then he was so weak, that travelling, so far as he was concerned, was out of the question.
A consultation was held, and it was decided that Bob, Dick and Danny should remain near the river until nightfall, when Carlos Remora would bring the rest of the party back, unless, of course, something of importance was discovered.
The boys were left some provisions and their firearms, and soon Don, Leander and the others were out of sight.
As the three who had been in the stream were sopping wet, it was decided by them to take off their clothing and let it dry by hanging on some bushes in the hot sun.
In the meantime Dick built a small fire and made a pot of hot coffee, of which all partook with great satisfaction, along with several sandwiches.
"Sure an' I fought I was a goner," said Danny, when he felt strong enough to speak. "My, but don't dat river run fast!"
"In a place like this, one has to have all his wits about him," answered Dick.
"I'll have me wits about me when I cross another tree bridge, dat's as sure as yer born," concluded Danny.
Among the articles they carried, the boys had several fishing lines, and while Danny rested, Bob and Dick baited with some land crabs they succeeded in catching, and threw into the stream to try their luck.
"I've got a bite!" cried Bob, a half minute later, and drew in his haul, a tiny brown fish weighing not over three or four ounces. "Not worth anything," he muttered, disappointedly.
A short while later Dick felt a jerk, and at once his line began to leave his hand rapidly. "Something, big," he cried, and played his catch as skillfully as he could. Inside of five minutes the fish was landed—a speckled beauty of at least three pounds. It was no wonder that Dick was quite proud of it.
But fish were not plentiful in that stream, and at the end of two hours they gave up the sport, each having caught two of fair size and several little things besides.
"Dat fish would taste mighty fine baked on a red-hot stone," said Danny; and to please the Irish lad, Bob proceeded to start up the fire, and soon a fish was done to a turn. It was the largest of the mess, but their appetites were good and they ate all there was of it.
Toward sunset they began to look forward to the return of the others, but nobody put in an appearance, and once the great orb of day went down, it grew dark rapidly.
"I hope they return," observed Dick; and growing a trifle anxious, he walked from the hollow and up the road the party under Remora had taken.
He was gone fully quarter of an hour and came back in considerable excitement.
"I just caught sight of that Joseph Farvel," he announced. "He is on the other side of the stream with two negroes, and the three are making their way toward the tree bridge."