Part 20 (1/2)

It was a temptation that two live boys could not resist. Mooring Neb's old fis.h.i.+ng boat to a sharp projecting rock, they proceeded to wade where it would have been impossible to navigate; Rex leaping before them, barking jubilantly now, as if he had won his point.

”You stand back, kid!” (Through all the excitement of a discoverer, Dan did not lose sight of his responsibilities.) ”Let me go ahead, so if there is anything to hurt I'll strike it first. Straight behind in my steps, and lookout for suck-holes!”

And, with Rex leading, they proceeded Indian file over the narrow strip of sand that shelved to the sea, and then on through thicket and branches that hedged the sh.o.r.e in wild, luxuriant growth, until suddenly the ruins of the old lighthouse rose out of the tangle before them. The shaft that had upheld the beacon light was all gone save the iron framework, which rose bare and rusted above the little stone cabin that had sheltered the keeper of long ago, and that still stood amid crumbling stones and fallen timbers.

”Back, Freddy,--back!” shouted Dan, as something big and fierce bolted out of the ruins. ”Why, it's the other dog!” he added in relief. ”Mr. Wirt _must_ be somewhere around.”

And, peering into the open door of the cabin, he stood dumb with dismay; for there indeed, stretched upon the rotten floor under the broken roof, was his friend of the steamboat. His gun was beside him, his head pillowed on his knapsack, his eyes closed, all his pride and strength and manly bearing gone; only the short, hard breathing showed that he was still alive.

”Golly!” gasped Freddy, who had crept in behind his chum. ”Is--is he dead, Dan?”

”Not--not--yet, but he looks mighty close to it. Mr. Wirt--” he faltered, bending over the prostrate form; ”Mr. Wirt!” he repeated louder. There was no answer. ”I'm afraid he's gone,” said Dan, in an awe-struck voice; and Freddy burst into boyish tears.

”What are you crying about?” asked Dan, gruffly.

”Oh, I don't know,--I don't know!” was the trembling answer. ”I--I never saw anybody dead before. What--what do you think killed him, Dan?”

”Nothing. He isn't killed,” replied Dan, who had been taking close observations. ”He is still breathing. I guess he came here to hunt and got sick, and that's what the dog was trying to tell people. Gosh, it's a pity dogs like that can't talk!”

”Oh, it is,--it is!” murmured Freddy, putting his arm around Rex, who, his duty done, was seated on his hind legs, gravely surveying his master.

The sick man moved a little, and groaned feebly: ”Water!” the word came faintly through parched lips. ”Water,--a little--Water!”

Dan picked up a can that had evidently done duty before.

”Stay by him, Freddy, so he'll know there is something here. I'll go to get some water. They must have had a pump or well around a place like this,”

And while Dan discovered the broken, half-choked cistern at the back of the Old Light, Freddy watched the sick man. He had never before seen any one very sick, and it took some pluck to keep his post especially when Mr.

Wirt suddenly opened his eyes and looked at him. It was such a strange, wild, questioning look that Freddy felt his heart nearly leap into his throat.

Then Dan came back with the can full of water, and together they did their best for their patient,--bathing his head, wetting his parched lips, laving the helpless hands that were burning with fever, until the bright, sunken eyes closed and the sick man sank into a fitful sleep.

”He is pretty badly off,” said Dan, who had seen pain and sickness and death, and knew. ”He ought to have a doctor right away, and it's for us to get one quick as we can. But it will be a good three hour's job; and”

(Aunt Winnie's boy's voice softened) ”I hate to leave the poor fellow here without any one to give him a drop of water, when he's burning up like this. But you can't sail the boat alone, kid.”

”No, I can't,” faltered Freddy,--”I can't sail the boat, Dan; but--but”

(the young voice steadied bravely) ”I can stay here with him.”

”You can!” echoed Dan, staring at his little chum in amazement. ”You'd scare to death, kid, here all alone with a dying man. He is likely to go off any minute.”

”Maybe,” faltered Freddy. ”But--but I'd stay by him all the same, Dan. I can bathe his head and his hands, and give him water to drink, and say prayers like Brother Bart says we must when people are dying. O Dan, we can't leave him here to die alone!”

”No, we can't,” said Dan, heartily. ”I'd never think of asking a kid like you to stay. But, with the two dogs on the watch, there's nothing to fear.

And you are doing the real right and plucky thing, for sure. I'll sail over to Killykinick and see if I can get Jim or Dud off for the nearest doctor, and be back here as quick as I can. And you, kid” (Dan's tone softened tenderly to his little chum), ”don't scare more than you can help. Stick it out here as best you can.”

Dan was off at the words, and for a moment Freddy felt his heart sink within him. He looked at the broken walls, the gaping roof, the dying man, and his blood chilled at the thought of the long hours before any one could return to him. Standing at the door of the Old Light, his eyes followed Dan's st.u.r.dy figure leaping swiftly through the bramble bush, and now he had reached the boat and put off.

Freddy was left indeed. He gulped down a big lump that rose in his throat, and, with the can of water Dan had freshly filled for him, took his seat at his patient's side. Rex came up and put a cold nose on his knee, and Freddy's watch began.