Читать книгу Don Sturdy with the Big Snake Hunters or Lost in the Jungles of the Amazon - J. W. Duffield - Страница 4

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Don rose to the surface after his dive. He shook his head to clear the water from his eyes and looked about him. For a moment he could distinguish nothing in the tumult of waters. Then his heart leaped; he had caught sight of the girl being carried on by the resistless force of the current.

But even as he looked she disappeared, to come to the surface considerably farther down the stream.

He struck out vigorously in her direction, with a muttered prayer that he might be in time. He was a powerful swimmer, and the current aided him. But that same current was also hurrying the girl along unpityingly.

It was evident that she could not swim, although her hands were beating the torrent frantically in an effort to keep her head above water. He caught one glimpse of a despairing face turned toward him, and the sight put new power into his strokes.

“Hurry, oh, hurry!” shouted the crippled boy, who was hobbling along the bank as fast as he could, trying to keep pace with Don. “She’s gone down twice already. Hurry! Hurry!”

Don needed no urging. Every ounce of strength that he had was being exerted. He had gained considerably. Would he reach her before she went down for the last time?

Nearer and nearer he came, his arms working like piston rods. He could see that she was again sinking. Her head was gradually submerged, until only her long hair streaming behind her was showing.

He made a superhuman effort and fairly leaped forward. Reaching out with his right hand, he caught one of the strands of her hair. He held on to it desperately, and drew her head above the surface of the water.

His exertions had tired him badly, and his lungs felt as though they would burst, while his breath came in gasps. But he held on to his burden tightly with one hand, while he kept himself up with the other.

She was conscious, but too far gone to struggle, which was fortunate, for had she grasped him it might have meant the end for both of them. He got one of her arms over his shoulder, and held it there with his left hand, while with the other he tried to make his way to the bank.

It was hard work to make his course across the rushing current, encumbered as he was, and it might have fared badly with them both had he not been able to grasp the overhanging branch of a tree. He held on to this until he got some of his strength back, and then painfully and slowly succeeded in making his way to the shore.

The crippled boy was waiting for them, and, bending down, took most of the weight of his sister from Don. Then Don climbed up on the bank, and together they lifted the girl and laid her on the grass.

She was pale and weak, but still conscious, and she tried to summon up a wan little smile of gratitude as they chafed her wrists and hands to get her blood circulating freely. Soon they were able to lift her to a sitting position and prop her against a tree.

Her brother fairly wept with relief.

“Oh, Emily, Emily!” he exclaimed, as he patted her hands. “Oh, but I’m glad that you’re safe! What if you had been drowned! And how can we thank you enough?” he added, turning to Don. “You were awfully brave to go in after her.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” said Don, somewhat embarrassed, not only by the boy’s words but by the look of gratitude in the eyes of the girl. “Any one else that happened along would have done the same thing.”

The girl shook her head at this and tried to speak, but Don stopped her.

“Don’t try to say anything,” he said gently. “Wait till you get your strength back. Do you live far from here?” he asked, turning to the boy.

“Only about a quarter of a mile,” was the reply. “In the old Turner place. My name is Fred Turner, and this is my sister, Emily.”

“Oh, yes,” said Don. “I’ve often heard of you, though I’ve never met you before. My name is Don Sturdy.”

“Don Sturdy!” exclaimed the boy, with quickened interest. “Are you the fellow that had such wonderful adventures in the Sahara Desert?”

“Why, I don’t know as I’d call them wonderful,” replied Don, flushing a little uneasily, as he always did when any one referred to his exploits, “but I have just got back from there with my two uncles.”

“Oh, I have heard all about you,” cried Fred Turner with a look akin to hero worship in his eyes. “Gee, I don’t wonder now at your pluck in saving my sister!”

“We ought to get your sister home as soon as possible,” said Don hastily. “Then your mother can look after her and put her to bed. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, either, to send for a doctor.”

“We haven’t any mother,” the boy answered sadly. “An aunt of ours keeps house for us.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Don. “But, anyway, we ought to get your sister home. Do you feel able to walk?” he asked, turning to the girl.

She nodded, and with Don’s assistance rose to her feet. But her limbs refused to support her, and she sank down again.

Don was perplexed.

“I’ll run home and get our car,” he said. “It won’t take me long, and I’ll get back in a jiffy. But wait!” he added, as he heard the hum of an automobile on the road. “Here comes a car now. I’ll stop it and see if we can get a lift.”

He ran out to the road and signaled for the rapidly approaching car to stop. It did so promptly, and it was with great satisfaction that Don recognized in the driver the very Mr. Thompson whom his uncle had sent him to see. He was a big genial man, a lawyer who transacted a good deal of Captain Sturdy’s legal business.

“Hello, Don!” he exclaimed, as he looked in surprise at his drenched and clinging garments. “What on earth have you been doing? Taking a swim with your clothes on? You look like a drowned rat.”

“I suppose I do,” laughed Don. “But look here, Mr. Thompson. There’s a girl here who fell into the water, and she needs to get home in a hurry. Will you give us a lift?”

“To be sure I will,” replied Mr. Thompson, with ready sympathy, as he climbed out of the car. “Where is she?”

Don led the way to the bank of the creek.

While he and Mr. Thompson are helping the girl and her crippled brother into the automobile, it may be well for the benefit of those who have not read the preceding volume of this series to tell just who Don was and what had been his adventures up to the time this story opens.

Don Sturdy was a tall, muscular boy, fourteen years old, living in the old Sturdy stone house at Hillville, about fifty miles from New York City. He had brown hair and eyes of the same color, a fair complexion, a frank, handsome face and a likable smile. He was generally liked by boys of his age, and excelled in outdoor sports, such as baseball and football, besides being a crack shot.

His father, Richard Sturdy, had been an explorer of note, and on his last trip had taken with him his wife, Alice, and Don’s only sister, Ruth, two years younger than Don, and to whom the lad was devotedly attached. They went on the exploring ship Mercury, which mysteriously disappeared while on a trip around Cape Horn, South America. She was supposed to have been sunk, and to have carried down with her all her passengers and crew.

The blow was a terrible one to Don, who seemed at one blow to have been deprived of all the members of his immediate family. For many months he cherished the hope that somewhere they were still alive, but as time went on without any news of the missing ones, this hope grew more and more slender. Still he never abandoned it entirely, and the one purpose of his life was to find them, if they were still alive.

Though apparently an orphan, he had two staunch friends and protectors left in his two uncles, Captain Frank Sturdy, brother of Richard Sturdy, and Professor Amos Regor Bruce, brother of Don’s mother.

Captain Sturdy, who had never married, was a noted big game hunter, a large, powerful man with swarthy skin and black eyes that could flash with merriment or grow terrible with anger. He had traveled all over the world, gathering animals dead and alive for museums and menageries. He was a dead shot, and Don’s own expertness with the rifle had been gained under the tutelage of his Uncle Frank, who was at the same time his guardian.

Professor Bruce, also a bachelor, was of a different type, rather small in build with gray eyes and gray hair. He was a very learned man, an eminent archæologist with degrees from many universities, and spent most of his time in collecting specimens of ancient life and art for museums and learned societies.

All three, when at home, lived in the Sturdy mansion, which was taken care of by a rather elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Dan Roscoe, the former acting as man of all work about the place while Mrs. Roscoe attended to the housekeeping, helped by the maid, Jennie Jenks, whose gum-chewing proclivities have already been noted.

Both the captain and the professor had, a short time before, been called to go to Algeria in fulfillment of contracts they had with the International Museum and Menagerie Collection Corporation, with their main offices in New York and branch establishments in London and Paris.

They had taken Don with them, largely to keep his mind from brooding over the loss of his parents and sister. They had scarcely reached Tuggurt in Algeria, before they found adventure thickening about them. Don rescued an American boy of about his own age, Teddy Allison—commonly called Brick because of his red hair—from natives who were attacking him, and learned that Mr. Allison, Teddy’s father, had been carried away by Arabs in a raid on his caravan, with which he had gone into the Sahara Desert to search for a cave of emeralds reputed to be located somewhere in the Hoggar Plateau.

The plight of the boy enlisted the sympathy of Don and his uncles, and they planned an automobile expedition into the desert to rescue Mr. Allison, if he were yet alive.

They went through many perils and exciting adventures, and more than once found themselves face to face with death. How they suffered from thirst and sand storms, what battles they had with bandits, how gallantly Don bore himself among dangers that might have appalled the bravest, and the news Don learned that gave new life and hope in the search for his parents—all these and more are narrated in the first volume of this series, entitled: “Don Sturdy on the Desert of Mystery; or, Autoing in the Land of the Caravans.”

And now to return to the girl who owed her life to Don’s coolness and courage.

They had helped her into Mr. Thompson’s car and her crippled brother after her when Don suddenly remembered his coat on the other side of the creek.

“Just a second, Mr. Thompson,” he said, as he ran to the tree trunk that crossed the stream. “I have some papers in that coat that Uncle Frank wanted me to give to you.”

“You’re taking chances on that slippery trunk,” warned Mr. Thompson.

“I know it,” laughed Don. “But I haven’t time to go down to the bridge. I’ll take a chance.”

Luck was with the boy, and he was back in a few minutes, with the coat. Then Mr. Thompson started the automobile, followed the road indicated by Fred, and in a short time they were at the Turner house.

There were exclamations of alarm from the young folks’ aunt, Miss Mary Turner, when she saw the pale face and wet clothes of her niece. But the others speedily reassured her and helped the girl into the house, where her aunt promptly put her to bed, while Fred, going to the telephone, called up the family doctor, who promised to come as soon as possible.

“Well,” said Mr. Thompson, when, having done all he could, he prepared to go, “I guess I’ll be getting along. By the way, Don,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “you told me of the girl falling into the creek, but you didn’t say how she got out.”

“You see that she’s out all right, don’t you?” countered Don, with a smile.

“Thanks to you, yes,” was the reply. “Her brother told me all about it, while you were getting your coat. And I’m going to tell Frank Sturdy, when I see him next, that he’s lucky in having such a nephew! But I must go on. Don’t you want to come with me, Don? I’ll drop you at your house.”

But Don had taken an instant liking to Fred Turner and felt deep sympathy for him. He had the feeling that he would like to stay and talk to the boy, so he said:

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson; but I think I’ll stay here with Fred a little while.”

Mr. Thompson left, and the two boys were alone together, as Miss Mary Turner was still upstairs with Emily.

Fred Turner seemed to be about the same age as Don. Nature had given him a good frame and had evidently designed that he should be strong and tall, but her designs had been thwarted by his affliction. The lack of exercise showed in his thin face and slender arms. The face, however, though marked with suffering, was keen and intelligent, and the expression was frank and open.

“It seemed a miracle that you should have come along just when you did. And you had nerve to plunge in after Emily!” Fred said fervently. “I’m sure thankful to you. It was awful to see her there and not be able to help her.”

“You had just as much nerve as I had,” replied Don. “You were going in after her, if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“Oh, I’d have gone in,” admitted Fred. “I’d rather have died with her than have gone on living without her. She’s all I’ve got in the world, for somehow or other one can’t get very near to Aunt Mary. But what good could I have done, anyway? I’m no good with this crippled leg of mine,” he ended, with a touch of bitterness in his tone.

“You mustn’t talk that way,” admonished Don gently. “There’s lots in life for you, even if you are lame. That may be cured after a while. Was it the result of an accident?”

“No,” answered Fred. “It started years ago with an attack of infantile paralysis. Then there were complications that the doctors didn’t seem to understand. If my father had only lived—”

He broke off and sat staring moodily before him. Don’s heart was full of pity for the unfortunate boy, so handicapped in the race of life.

“If my father had only lived,” Fred repeated, rousing himself, “I might have had some chance of being cured. He was a scientist, interested specially in chemistry, and he had heard of a drug in South America that was reported to have worked wonderful cures for natives whose trouble seemed to be like mine. He was planning to go for that special purpose to Brazil—”

“Brazil!” interrupted Don. “Why, that’s where I’m going a few weeks from now. And what’s more,” he added, as another thought struck him, “my Uncle Amos is going there on a special hunt for rare drugs. Perhaps he’ll find the one your father wanted. By ginger, Fred, maybe we’ll cure you yet!”