Читать книгу The Parachute Jumper - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 7

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Tom divested himself of jacket and helmet and reached the lake just in time to get into one of the rescue boats. A trim little launch it was and filled to capacity with scouts. The other boat, with outboard motor, listed to one side under its burden of Ike Higgins and the general store keeper who were audibly lamenting the jumper’s sad fate.

“It may not be as bad as that,” Tom called to them. “He’s got a puny chance but it’s a chance just the same. There was a fisherman in the cove and I’m certain I saw him dive off to help my jumper.”

“It’s that there hermit, I bet,” said Ike Higgins.

“Gosh a-mighty,” said the general store keeper. “We got ter help him.”

The launch roared off in the lead with a khaki-clad figure hunched determinedly over the wheel. All eyes were fixed on the bend and now and again some scout would glance deferentially at Tom, eager to be of service.

Suddenly the launch swung around the bend and into the cove. The scout sitting next to Tom tugged at his sleeve and whispered, “Jiminy!”

A figure was swimming slowly away from the gaily floating parachute.

“Good heavens!” Tom cried. “Just one?”

“Just one is right,” said the scout at the wheel. “He’s a lucky feller.”

The motor purred and the launch swung over into the path of the swimmer. Tom scrambled his way up to the bow of the graceful craft and squeezed himself into an advantageous position. No one spoke.

“He’s hurt,” said the scout at the wheel. “He’s bleeding across his forehead. Look, he’s waiting for us—he’s floating!”

Tom got to his feet and saw that the swimmer was indeed waiting, almost wearily. He was paddling with his right arm to keep himself afloat and every motion revealed the upper part of his body clothed in a white sweater.

“Donovan!” cried Tom. “It’s he!”

Two of the scouts dived overboard and supported him while the launch swung over and got in a position to receive him. Then they lifted him in carefully and to Tom’s consternation he was too dazed to speak.

Someone produced a blanket and after wrapping him in it, they laid him down, pillowing his head in Tom’s lap. A scout pushed forward and proceeded to render first aid to the gash across the temple and several other cuts that were bleeding profusely.

“What did the fisherman do to you, Billy?” Tom asked as the deep blue eyes looked questioningly up into his. “Cut you all to pieces?”

Billy nodded and his lips parted in a smile that revealed the firm, even teeth that had captured Tom’s fancy back at the Airport. “You blue-eyed Irishman,” said Tom playfully poking him in the ribs. “I might have known there were blue eyes behind those goggles of yours. They’d have to be to go with those teeth and that smile. Am I right?”

“Oke,” answered Billy faintly, but still smiling.

Tom laughed heartily. “That sounds like you, all right. You’ll be fine and fit in a little while. You were just shocked seeing that poor fisherman go down, huh?”

Donovan nodded.

The motor boat came chugging up. “It’s my jumper, all right,” Tom said in answer to their queries. “He’s all cut and we’ll go on back, but you fellows hunt around under that parachute and see if you can find that poor fisherman.”

The general store keeper leaned over on his side of the motor boat and stared. “You mean that that there hermit feller what Ike calls him, is drownded?”

“It looks that way,” said Tom. “Donovan here is pretty weak from loss of blood and hasn’t said. Wait, I’ll ask him.” Tom turned his head round and looked down into Billy’s smiling face. “Did the chap swim to shore by any chance—the fisherman?”

Donovan shook his head weakly. “He sunk right before—me—drowned,” came the whispered answer. Then he shut his eyes.

“He’s fainted,” said the first aid scout.

“Sure as you live,” said Tom worriedly. “Let’s get back to shore as quickly as possible.”

And as the launch roared back to its destination the general store keeper was heard to sigh wearily.

“What’s th’ matter?” inquired Ike Higgins.

“It jes’ ain’t fair,” the store keeper explained. “Here that parachute jumper went and done me out of a prospective customer. Jes’ as if business ain’t bad ’nuff.”

“I know,” said like Higgins sympathetically. “No use cryin’ ’bout spilled milk, though. Let’s see ef we can find the last o’ him anyway.”

And so the motor boat chugged on toward the parachute.