CHAPTER VIII

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*WHAT THE TREE HELD*

"Thereafter grew the wind; and chafing deaths In distant waters, sent a troubled cry Across the slumbrous forest; and the chill Of coming rain was on the sleeper's brow." HENRY KENDALL.

"James!" exclaimed Mrs. Blain to her husband during this eventful morning, "it's dinner-time and those lads are not back. I hope nothing has happened."

"What do you expect could have happened, you dear old fidget? I'm going to the post, however, and I'll have a look round."

Could Mr. Blain have beheld the lads at this particular time, the calm of his deep nature would have been broken up in a fashion rare to his experience; for at this moment the boat and its occupants are being borne on the rapids, presently to be flung upon the riotous and foam-crested waves of the river.

In moving along the street the minister met several persons who had been out on the back-water during the morning. All had seen the boys at one time or another. One of the latest in, who had been farther up than most of the others, had passed the boys on his return not long before. They were then heading up the swamp way.

"Don't fear, Mr. Blain, the boys know how to take care of themselves. Dinner's calling 'em loudly enough by this time, I wager ye."

Dinner-time came and went, but no boys. As the afternoon wore on the mother's fears deepened until they became well-nigh unendurable. The minister, rowed by two of the neighbours, set out to find the truants and fetch them back.

"Don't lose faith, dear! They're up to some prank, the thoughtless scamps! I'll fetch them home none the worse, to laugh at your fears."

Following Tom's index-finger, the boys fastened their eyes upon a clump of river oaks that stood on the edge of the woods.

High up in a fork of one of the largest trees, they could see what looked at first like a huge bundle of clothes fluttering in the wind. After a short while the bundle seemed to take a somewhat definite shape.

"What in the name of goodness is it all? Seems like a lot of old clothes jammed in the tree forks. Are you sure that the squall, or squeak, or squeal, or whatever it was, came from that direction?"

"Yes, I think so," replied Tom. "Listen, there it's again!" A thin, treble cry rose faintly above the din of the flood waters.

"See a woman's foot!"

The speaker was the half-caste, whose eyesight, owing to his half-wild nature, was much keener than his fellows'.

"A woman's foot, Billy! What do you mean? You don't mean to say really, that----!"

"See hand too! Look along bark. See fingers!"

Thus directed, the three boys looked, and saw, though but indistinctly, what appeared to be a hand grasping the tree-trunk, a foot, also, was revealed at intervals by the fluttering garment.

After a short, staring silence, a flood of mental light broke upon Joe. "I see now. Why, it's the poor soul we heard cooeeing last night!"

Yes, there had been plenty of speculation in the village as to who it could be, and exactly where the voice came from. None of those who heard the piteous wail that was borne across the floods in the black and wild darkness of that night would forget it for many a long day to come.

The mystery is now solved. The boys are horror-stricken at the sight and its sequent thought. They are now convinced that a woman is fixed in the tree. Without reasoning the matter out, they identify her as the one whose cry over night produced such a sensation in the township, and to locate which the police boat with a strong crew had started out at daybreak, but without success.

_Is she alive or dead_? The strange cry did not seem to be that of a woman. There was something so eerie, so shocking in the thought, that the lads were fear-possessed for some moments. Joe, as usual, recovered himself first.

"It's a woman sure enough! It's a human being, at any rate. An', boys, we've got to rescue her if she is alive. The cry can only come from her, I'm sure, so that there must be some life left still. How to do it I can't just see at this moment. We must think a bit."

Think a bit they did. Camped as they were at the lower end of the timber, it would be a matter of comparative ease to work up through the trees in the slack water, till they arrived opposite to the clump that stood out in the stream. There the real difficulties would begin. The rush of waters was still so strong, and the space for the play of the boat so small, that it became evident the rescue would be accompanied by some alarming risks.

One of two things must be done: either wait until the waters receded sufficiently to enable the rescuers to wade to the clump, or make an immediate dash.

"How long d'you think it'd be before we could wade across, Joe?"

"Dunno, Billy. Beckon there's eight or nine foot of water out there. Might be less. At any rate it'd be hours."

"Hours!" cried Tom. "An' s'posin' that poor creature's still alive?"

"That settles it!" exclaimed Joe, rising in his seat in excitement. "Boys, what's to be done must be done quickly."

Seemingly all were agreed. At least no objection was offered to this proposal, or, rather, mandate. So it was resolved, after some cogitation, to pull the boat through the timber to a point some distance higher up than the isolated clump. From thence the course would be outwards until the river current was met; an estimated distance of a hundred yards. The boat was to be headed against the current when in the stream influence. A vigorous row would be necessary to neutralise the current, to be modified so as to allow the craft to drift slowly down-stream. Then, when opposite the clump, a dash for the tree whereon the unfortunate woman was lying was to be made.

Inasmuch as this tree was almost in the centre of the group, and the stream still ran with violence, it was easy to see that without skilful management, and some luck, the boat might be stove in against a tree-bole; or, worse still, might be impaled upon a submerged snag. Any accident, such as missing way at a critical moment, or the snapping of an oar blade, might be fraught with the most disastrous consequences.

During the short conference Jimmy Flynn had kept silence. Towards the end, as Joe set forth the attendant dangers, he became considerably perturbed. After sundry wrigglings and contortions, rubbing of hands and licking of lips, these visual twistings found voice.

"I say, Joe! don't--er--yer think that--er--we'd better wait a bit?"

"Why?" chorused the boys.

"Oh--I--I dunno. Well--er--p'raps some other boat'll come over from the township d'reckly an'--an'----"

"And s'pose no boat comes along?"

"Well, then, I--I--er--vote--that we--er----"

"By jing! Jimmy," interposed Tom, with a jeer, "who'd 'a' thought you'd 'a' showed the white feather!"

"White feather yourself, Hawkins!" returned the fearful but now angry boy.

"Jimmy!" broke in Yellow Billy unexpectedly, for as a rule the half-caste was taciturn--the taciturnity of modesty in his case. Billy, while carrying some of the defects of aboriginal descent, was a kind-hearted and easily contented lad. "Jimmy!" said he, in a soft, quiet tone, "s'pose your mother was over there?"

Jimmy Flynn, who was sitting with a sullen, hang-dog expression, quivered as though he had received an electric shock. There was within him a consciousness of the truth of Tom's term. He was a coward, and the very notion of it angered him, and at the same time made him resentful. He shrank from the undertaking. None of the boys were in love with it, for that matter. Jimmy only, among the four, allowed his fear to overmaster him.

These few words of Billy, uttered in a quiet, even tone, went straight to the boy's heart. His sullen brows lifted. The angry resentment which had disfigured his face vanished. Straightening his bent figure, he seized the oar lying by his side. Then, squaring his shoulders, as he inclined forward to grip the water, he said quietly, "Let her go."

Immediately on releasing the boat Joe steered her in a semicircular course, keeping out back where the standing timber was thinnest. The boys pulled slowly, for there was always the danger of snags. They were in fairly slack water, and so had no need to exert themselves; besides which, it were wise to husband their strength for the supreme moment.

Tom and Jimmy, both expert oarsmen, were the rowers. Yellow Billy was stationed in the bow, with instructions to keep a keen look out for snags. He was armed with a stout pole in order that he might fend the boat on any critical occasion, or when the rudder might be inoperative. It formed a very useful instrument in Billy's practised hands, and enabled him to ward off the craft from many dangers that did not appear until the boat was almost upon them. As it was there were several ominous scrapes, as the boat rasped over submerged branches. Fortunately they reached the point determined upon without any accident.

They paused here a moment before leaving the slack water for the swiftly running stream.

"Now, boys," said Joe, after a brief survey, "sit steady, and pull for all you're worth. Mind you, no flurry. Keep an even stroke. Got the painter coiled, Billy?"

"All right, Joe."

"Pull then, boys, and stick to it like grim death to a diseased nigger."

The boat having got good way on, Joe headed her out a little, when she immediately encountered the current.

"Lay to it, my lads, lay to it!"

The boys "lay to" with such vigour that the rapid current was counterbalanced, and she hung in the stream, neither making headway nor drifting.

"Easy a little, my hearties! We must let her drift down gradually. Mustn't let her get out of hand, though."

In swinging the boat into the channel Joe kept her nose up-stream, and as near the slack water as possible. The boys easing a trifle at Joe's command, the current became the stronger of the two forces, and the little craft drifted slowly. Blain eagerly scanned the clump for an opening. This cluster, it may be remarked, was about two hundred yards long and fifty or so wide. In some parts the timber was thickly scattered, in others the trees were bunched together.

The boat is now about fifty yards above the tree containing the supposed woman.

"That's right, chaps, keep up as you're doin'! We must drift very slowly lest we miss the chance of popping in. It's too thick to venture in here. It's thinnin' out, though," exclaimed Joe, as the boat neared the point abreast the tree.

"Here's an opening, I do believe. Be ready, Billy! Pull, lads! pull, pull! Look out all!"

The boat lay anglewise, so that the current worked upon her quarter. Seeing a fair opening, Joe urged the rowers to do their utmost. So hard did they pull that the current, playing upon her quarter as she hung a few minutes stationary, forced her through the gap and towards the tree. The manoeuvre was splendidly executed. The boat was now within five yards or so of the tree, the boys putting every ounce of strength into their strokes. A minute or less now and they will either be fast to the tree or drifting down on to a solid block of timber just below.

Yellow Billy, who had crouched in the bow, now rose up quietly, rope in hand, ready to act promptly in the decisive moment. By good fortune a limb projected about five feet above the water, and branched out some distance from the tree. Joe worked the boat straight up-stream, and then called on the rowers to ease the barest trifle. The craft swung very slowly down, until she was fairly under the limb.

"Sling the painter over the branch an' make fast, Billy!" cried Joe, as the stern drifted under. "Pull now, you beggars, a last spurt!"

Billy whipped the rope round the limb, and made fast in a flash; the rowers, by a few desperate strokes, keeping the boat stationary.

"Hold her there a second. Let the loop lie loose an' edge it to the trunk, Billy!"

Joe thus worked the boat over until she was just at the rear of the tree.

"Ease her off gently now, boys. Steady still! A wrench might snap the painter."

The boys accordingly eased off gradually, and finally stopped.

"Two of you come aft, it'll ease the strain."

This done, the boat, which by burying her nose deep in the water was straining heavily on the rope, trimmed herself, and offered but the minimum resistance to the racing waters.

The tree-bole, which presented a somewhat broad surface, divided the waters, creating a narrow zone of neutral water in its wake. In this eddying area the boat rode securely, making it an easy matter for the bowman to keep her nose up against the tree.

And now each boy bent an upward glance to the fork.

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