Bert Wilson at Panama Part 11

He knew that this would not be for some time yet, and his only hope was that the man in the swamp would not sink deeper than the length of the reed.

He sank very slowly now, but none the less surely, and gradually the mud covered his mouth--his nostrils--his eyes--and at length his head sank beneath the surface. The smooth mire closed over the place where he had been, and the slender reed was all that remained to connect him with the living, pulsing world about.

At the thought of the horrible death the engineer would now have suffered without the aid of that frail thing Bert shuddered, and thanked Heaven for the inspiration.

The seething tropic life went on without interruption, as Bert sat on the edge of the swamp with his eyes fastened on the reed. From the jungle back of him came the myriad cries of the wild things: the chatter of monkeys, the screams of the gaily colored parrots, and, once, the distant yell of a mountain lion.

The tropic sun beat down with ever-increasing intensity as it neared the zenith, and Bert felt an awful oppression stealing over him. After the first flush of triumph over cheating the bog, at least temporarily, of its victim, a rush of doubts and fears came over him. Could the engineer retain consciousness, immersed as he was in the vile, sticky mud? Would he not give up, and release his hold on the precious reed? These and a thousand other misgivings tortured Bert as he watched the reed and waited for the expected reinforcements. The minutes seemed hours, and when he looked at his watch he was astonished to find it was not yet noon.

At length his weary vigil was broken by a distant shout, which he recognized as Tom's. All his fears vanished at the prospect of immediate action, and he raised a great shout in return. In a few moments he could hear the noise occasioned by the pa.s.sage of a considerable body of men, and soon the rescuing party hove in sight. This consisted of several of the camp engineers and foremen, together with eight or ten husky laborers. Everybody, including Tom and d.i.c.k, carried shovels and ropes, and some of the laborers bore long, wide planks on their shoulders.

d.i.c.k and Tom rushed forward, followed by the others, but stopped short when they looked at the treacherous swamp and saw no sign of the engineer. Their faces paled, and d.i.c.k exclaimed, "Too late, are we? We did our best, but we've got here too late."

Grief was written on every face, but this was soon dispelled when Bert exclaimed, briskly, "Too late nothing. He's under the swamp, to be sure, but he's breathing through the reed you see sticking up there," and he pointed out to them this slender barrier between life and death.

"Well, I'll be hanged," muttered one of the rescuing party, "how in the world did he ever come to think of that, I wonder?"

"Never mind how I came to think of it!" exclaimed Bert, "the thing is now to get him out. I've been watching that reed, and I don't believe he's more than ten inches or a foot below the surface. I feared he'd be a good deal deeper by this time."

Accordingly the rescuing party fell to with feverish haste, and began constructing a sort of boxed-in raft about eight feet square. This would support several people on the shaky surface of the bog, and it would give them a place to work on while attempting to extract Hartley.

In the meantime, what had been the sensations of the unfortunate engineer? As the thick mud slowly closed over his head he held the reed tightly between his lips, and had little difficulty in breathing through it. The mud was warm, and strange to say, he had a feeling almost of comfort as he sank beneath it. Soon he felt an almost overpowering desire to sleep. He knew, however, that if he yielded to this he would lose his hold on the reed, and so fought off the perilous drowsiness.

Before very long he felt something hard under his feet, and was conscious that he was no longer sinking. At first he was at a loss to know what had stopped his downward progress, but at last decided he must have come to rest on a sunken stump. This theory was confirmed when he felt around, first with one foot and then with the other, and found that on all sides of him there was only soft mud. But the stump beneath him renewed his hope.

Above ground the rescuing party was plying its saws and hammers to good effect, and in an incredibly short time had finished the rough raft.

This done they spread the remaining planks along the so-called path leading into the swamp, and prepared to launch their "mud boat," as Tom styled it.

The rude affair was hoisted up on the brawny shoulders of the laborers, and they carried it into the swamp, treading very gingerly on the narrow, quaking pathway. They "launched" it at a spot as near as possible to the reed, and it was evident that it would give them an ample base from which to conduct their operations.

Stout ropes were then brought, and one of the engineers reached down into the soft mud directly under the spot where the reed disappeared. Quickly drawing his hand up, he exclaimed, "I touched him easily that time!

Give me the rope, and I think I can reach down far enough to get it under his arms."

The rope was given him, and, reaching far over the side of the raft, he plunged his arms into the mud up to his shoulders. He manipulated the rope deftly, and soon jumped to his feet, waving his muddy arms.

"I've got it tied, all right," he exclaimed. "Now, men, we'll see if we can't pull the poor fellow out."

Three of the laborers took hold of the rope, and exerted all their strength on it. Slowly, very slowly, inch by inch, they pulled it up, until at last, amid a roar of cheers from them all, Hartley's head appeared above the surface of the swamp, the reed still held between his lips. The men leaned over and grasped his arms, and at last succeeded in pulling him into the boat.

He was a strange figure, and would hardly have been recognized as being a man. The thick mud clung to him, and made his features unrecognizable.

"Here," exclaimed Bert, "let's get the mud off him," and accordingly the contents of several water bottles was dashed over his face. At last he was able to open his eyes and to speak.

"There's no use my trying to thank you," he said, addressing the little group. "Nothing I can say can express my thankfulness to everybody here, and especially these three lads, who have certainly done wonders for me."

"Oh, that's all right," said Bert, "maybe you'll have a chance to do something for us one day, and then we'll be quits."

"Well, that doesn't alter matters at present," replied Hartley, "and you and your friends certainly did everything that could be done. I had just about given up hope when you happened along."

"It's a lucky thing for you they did, Hartley," broke in one of the engineers, who had accompanied the rescuing party. "Why, when these two lads dashed into camp and told us of your fix, we gave you up for lost.

That reed business was certainly a great stunt."

"No doubt about it," agreed another, and the three boys were deluged with a flood of like congratulations. Then the party started back. Hartley pluckily declared that he could walk, but they overruled him, and took turns in carrying him on a rude litter that they had hastily knocked together.

"That fellow certainly has got wonderful nerve," said Tom to Bert and d.i.c.k, and they heartily agreed with him.

CHAPTER X

A PERILOUS ADVENTURE

The party reached the camp without further adventure, and Mr. Hartley was put under the care of the camp physician. The latter p.r.o.nounced him all right with the exception of the shock, and the only prescription he gave was "two or three days of thorough rest."

"Well, that's easy medicine to take," said Hartley, with a faint smile, when he heard this verdict, "but I hope you lads will come and visit me and help me kill time. I'm used to a pretty strenuous life, and time will hang awfully heavy on my hands if you don't. Besides, I want to have a chance to express my appreciation of your brave conduct better than I have been able to so far."

"Well, we'll come to see you, all right, with pleasure," said Bert, "only first we want to make one condition."

"And what is that?" inquired the engineer.

"Why, that you'll cut out saying anything about our 'brave conduct,'"

said Bert. "We're naturally modest, you see," he added jokingly, "and anything like that bothers us."

"Well, all right. I suppose in that case I'll have to agree to your condition," a.s.sented the other, reluctantly, "but you can't keep me from thinking it, anyway."

"All right, then, that's agreed, and we'll let it go at that," said Bert, with a smile, "we'll be up to see you as soon as the doctor will let us, won't we, fellows?" turning to d.i.c.k and Tom.

Of course they were willing, so it was agreed that they should visit the engineer's tent, the next day but one. This matter settled, the three comrades took a cordial leave of Mr. Hartley, and made their way back to their own quarters. Until now they had not realized how tired they were, but before they had gotten to their room they all felt as though they could scarcely keep awake.

They managed to defer their sleep long enough to eat a hearty supper, however, but then "made a dash for the hay," as Tom expressed it.

It did not take them long to get to sleep that night, and they were too tired even to discuss the exciting happenings of this eventful day.

With the characteristic recuperative power of youth, however, they were up bright and early the next day, and all three expressed themselves as feeling "as fit as a fiddle."

"But just the same," remarked d.i.c.k, "I feel like loafing around to-day and taking things easy. Let's go up to the stone crus.h.i.+ng works and watch them. That's my idea of the most restful thing in the world--to watch somebody else working."

"It certainly is," agreed Bert, with a laugh, "but I'm afraid the 'somebody else' might not appreciate your philosophy."

"Oh, that's all right," said d.i.c.k. "Some time when I'm working, the other fellow is welcome to watch me, and then he'll be getting his rest."

"Huh," remarked Tom. "I'd hate to have to wait for my rest until you started laboring. I'm afraid I'd surely die from overwork before that happened."

"Oh, don't worry about your dying from overwork," retorted d.i.c.k, "that's my idea of the last thing in the world to be afraid of. What do you think, Bert?"

"Oh, I don't imagine any of us will get heart failure very soon from that cause," laughed Bert, "but here we are at the workings already, so let's proceed to take your 'rest cure,' d.i.c.k."