The Boy Scouts of Bob's Hill Part 15

"I can't walk a step, but I can yell to beat the band.

"I can't get to Williamstown and I can't get home, but I have something to eat in my pack and plenty of matches in my pocket.

"n.o.body knows where I am, but----"

That last "but" was to much for Bill. He couldn't find anything to go with it, for he began to think of what Pa had told us, that if a person should get hurt on the mountain he might die there and not be found for weeks or years. His ankle was aching fearfully, too.

He tried yelling for a while and Bill is the best yeller that I ever saw or heard.

"Help! Help!" he cried. "HELP!"

He might as well have saved his breath for all the good it did.

Then he lay still for a long time, trying to think what to do. That was what Mr. Norton had told us.

"If anything happens," said he, "don't lose your heads. Think it over calmly. Decide what is best to do and then do it."

"I'm a Scout," said Bill to himself, "and, bet your life, I ain't a going to stay here and die on no mountain."

He took off his shoe and stocking and bathed his ankle in water from one of the bottles--not much water because he couldn't spare it, and he took a little sip himself. Then he thought of his "first aid to the injured"

package.

"What's the matter with bandaging myself?" said he. "It will be good practice."

When he had finished and had rested a few minutes, he found that his ankle did not hurt him quite so much and that he could move around a little, if he didn't bear any weight on it.

He thought at first that he would crawl on his hands and knees to Williamstown, or until he came to some house, but when he tried he found that he couldn't do it.

"I'll tell you what I can do," he said at last, because he liked to hear somebody talking, even if it was only himself. "Maybe I can crawl back to the top of Greylock. n.o.body ever would find me here and folks sometimes go up there."

The Boy Scouts of Raven Patrol think that it took grit to crawl up the steep and rough mountainside, with his ankle hurting at every move so badly that it made him feel faint.

It wasn't far to the top, but Bill thought he never would get there, he had to stop so many times to rest and wait for the pain to go away. An hour or more pa.s.sed before he finally crawled out into the clearing, with nothing but the blue sky above him.

It was then getting late in the afternoon. Skinny was at Pumpkin Hook by that time, probably surrounding the enemy. Wallie was somewhere in North Adams or beyond. I was hoeing the garden at the very foot of Greylock, little thinking that Bill was in so much trouble on top.

The summit of Greylock is almost level and is not very large. On the east side Bill saw a lot of brush which somebody had cut and piled up, probably to make a big fire; then for some reason had not lighted it.

He crawled over to that after the sun went down, built a little fire, and cooked a small piece of bacon for his supper, which he ate with a piece of bread and b.u.t.ter. It tasted good, but it made him thirsty and he didn't dare drink much water.

Then, being tired out and more comfortable, he said his prayer and repeated all of the Scout laws, from being loyal to being reverent, wondering what good it was doing him to have two dollars in the bank down in the village, and went to sleep.

When he awoke it was broad daylight. Benny and I were just starting on our hikes, down in Park Street, but he couldn't see us, Bob's Hill being in the way. By standing upon his one good foot, he could see the village down below, and thought he could make out the very house he lived in. He was as hungry as a bear and his ankle seemed a little better, although it was still swollen so much that he couldn't get his shoe on and he couldn't step on the foot.

He had plenty of food for breakfast, but he didn't know how many meals he would need before he could get away; so he ate only a little and waited, hoping every minute that somebody would come up on the mountain and find him.

When the day at last dragged around and the sun was going down again in Hudson River, Bill knew that he would have to spend another night on the mountain and he felt pretty bad.

There were only a few mouthfuls of food left. One bottle of water was all gone and the other nearly so. He knew that by that time his folks would feel sure that something had happened and would begin to look for him. That was some comfort.

Far down below, lights shone out from the houses, one by one. Down there was his home. One of those lights was s.h.i.+ning out of his window, s.h.i.+ning for him, while his mother sat and waited--waited for her boy who never would come back again.

He sobbed aloud and stretched out his hands into the darkness.

"Mother, mother," he whispered, "I wish I hadn't come."

When he awoke in the morning he was frightened to find that the little food which he had saved for his breakfast was gone. Some animal had stolen it in the night.

His ankle was still badly swollen but it did not pain him so much except when he tried to stand on it.

He was hungry and looked around for something that he could eat. A little below the edge of the mountain stood a birch tree. He dragged himself down to it and cut off long strips of the bark. This he chewed for his breakfast, was.h.i.+ng it down with a few sips of water, which seemed hardly to wet his parched throat.

"I'll crawl down to the spring, if I can, and die there," he thought.

"Maybe they will find me sometime."

Then, as he was starting, something came to him.

Smoke signals! Perhaps one of the Scouts would see them and know what they meant.

He was too weak and lame to spell out a message, like we did on Bob's Hill. Instead, he built two fires, throwing on gra.s.s and leaves to make a thick smoke. There was no wind and the smoke went straight up. That was one of the signals, which Mr. Norton had taught us. It meant:

"I have lost the camp. Help."

He hadn't lost any camp, of course, but he didn't know what else to send. He hoped it would let us know where he was and that something had happened.

All day long he tended his fires, his ankle aching horribly because he had to move around so much. Between times he sat on the mountain, looking down at Bob's Hill and Plunkett's woods and the village beyond, chewing birch bark and moistening his lips with the few drops of warm water that were left.

Late that afternoon he gave up and made up his mind that he would crawl down to the spring before dark and die there, he was so thirsty. He turned to look down at his home, perhaps for the last time, and to see Bob's Hill once more.

There were Plunkett's woods, and there, the twin stones, like thimbles, they were so far away. And there--what was that?

From the ground close to one of the stones, the one where we build our fires, a great column of smoke went up and he saw some things moving around it, like flies or ants, they looked so small. Then the column of smoke broke into long and short puffs. It was a signal.

Slowly he spelled the words:

"I-S, Is; I-T, it; Y-O-U, you; B-I-L-L, Bill?"

Jumping to his feet, although he almost screamed with pain, Bill grabbed his blanket and held it down over one of the fires, which was still sending out a big smoke; then pulled it off. Again and again he sent up the puffs of smoke. His blanket was blazing; his hands were burned to a blister; he was almost strangled with the smoke; but Bill kept on, until he had spelled out something which could be seen from the top of Bob's Hill, far below:

.... H . E -- L ..... P

Then he fainted away.

CHAPTER IX