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Rover Boys in Camp

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<h2 id="id02208" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXIX</h2> <h5 id="id02209">TRUE HEROISM</h5> "Well, one thing is certain, I am much worse off now than I was when in the hands of Lew Flapp's crowd," thought Dick dismally, after trying in vain to break the bonds that bound him. The closet in which he was a prisoner was so small that he could scarcely turn himself. The door was a thick one, so to break it down was out of the question. "Stop your row in there!" called out Dan Baxter presently. "If you don't, I'll give you something you won't want." "How long are you going to keep me here?" "If you wait long enough you'll find out," was the unsatisfactory answer. "It won't do you any good to keep me a prisoner, Dan." "Won't it? Perhaps you think I'm going to let you go so that you can get the officers to arrest my father," sneered the younger Baxter. "They are bound to get him anyway, sooner or later." "They'll never get him if they don't catch him this week." "Why? Is he going to leave the country?" "That's his business, not yours," said Dan Baxter, and walked away. "It's too bad he turned up as he did," remarked Arnold Baxter, when he found himself alone with his son. "I thought I'd be safe here until I could slip over to Boston." "When does that steamer sail for Cape Town, Africa, dad?" "Tuesday or Wednesday of next week." "Then all we can do is to keep Dick Rover a prisoner until that time." "We can't do it, Dan. As soon as he is reported missing this whole vicinity will be searched." "Do you think they'll find this cottage?" "Perhaps, although so far I have not been disturbed." "Tom and Sam Rover came pretty close to locating you, didn't they?" "They came within half a mile of the spot. But I gave them the slip." "I wish I could square up with all of the Rovers," went on Dan Baxter savagely. "They have caused me no end of trouble." "Better leave them alone, Dan. Every time you try to do something you get your fingers burnt." To this the son could not answer, for he knew that his father spoke the truth. A long talk followed, and then Dan Baxter left, promising to return before noon of the next day. He was to proceed to a town about twelve miles away and there purchase for his father a new suit of clothing and a preparation for dyeing his hair and beard. With this disguise Arnold Baxter hoped to get away from the vicinity and reach Boston without being recognized. So far the night had been clear, but now a storm was brewing. From a great distance came a rumble of thunder and occasionally a glimpse of lightning lit up the landscape. "You'll have a bad journey of it," said Arnold Baxter to his son as the latter was leaving. "Reckon I'll have to make the best of it," answered Dan. "But I've got used to such things, since I've been knocking around the ocean and elsewhere." Left to himself, Arnold Baxter paced the floor of the cottage uneasily. Age was beginning to tell upon him and he was by no means the man he was when introduced to the Rovers years before. "I wish I was out of it," he murmured to himself. "I'd give a good deal to be on the ocean this minute, bound for some place where I can make a fresh start." The storm kept growing in violence until the cottage fairly shook from the fury of the wind. There was much thunder and lightning, with some crashing in the woods close at hand, that caused both Baxter and Dick to start in alarm. Dick was doing his best to free himself and at last managed to get one hand loose. He had already found that to attempt forcing the door was useless. Now he tried the walls of the closet and then the flooring and the ceiling. He was much gratified to find that the boards of the ceiling were not fastened down. With a great effort he managed to raise himself and after a minute of hard work found himself in the tiny loft of the cottage. Here the patter of the rain was strong and the water was leaking in everywhere. "I'll have to drop to the ground and run for it," he told himself, and crawled to where there was a tiny window just large enough to admit the passage of his body. It was no easy matter to get down to the ground with one hand still fastened behind him, and Dick made rather slow work of it. The rain beat in at the window, and soon he was soaked to the skin. Where to go next he did not know. To journey far in such a storm was entirely out of the question. Dick had hardly gotten to the edge of the woods when a blinding flash of lightning and a ripping crash of thunder fairly lifted him from his feet. "Oh!" he gasped, and staggered to a tree for support. "My, but that was close!" It was not until a moment later that he realized what had occurred. The lightning had struck the cottage, ripping off a corner of the roof and descending into the room below. The structure was now a mass of flames. "The cottage is on fire!" murmured the youth. "Wonder if the Baxters have been struck?" The wind quickly drove the fire in all directions until the cottage was in flames almost from end to end. Staggering from the effects of the shock, Dick drew closer to the building and then tried the door, to find it locked. "Help!" came faintly, in Arnold Baxter's voice. "Help!" "Open the door," returned Dick, forgetting that it was an enemy who was calling for assistance. "I—I cannot. I—I am helpless!" Again Dick tried the door, but without success. Then he leaped for the window. Some of the glass was broken, and with his naked fist he drove in the whole sash, and tore down the flapping curtain. The sight which met his gaze filled him with horror. The room was on fire in several places and in a corner, near the chimney piece, rested Arnold Baxter, pinned down by a section of brick and stonework that had fallen. He had been hit in the head, and from the wound the blood was flowing. "Rover, is that you?" he cried faintly. "Don't desert me!" Without replying, Dick began to crawl in through the broken window. The air was filled with smoke and he could scarcely see what he was doing. The sparks, too, were flying in all directions and only the wetness of his garments kept them from catching fire. He was soon at Arnold Baxter's side, and with his one free hand hurled the bricks and stones in all directions. As he worked the fire kept coming closer, until his face was fairly blistered by the conflagration. At last the man was free. But he could not raise himself up, and when Dick did it Arnold Baxter fell a limp form in his arm. He had fainted. Mustering up all the strength that remained to him, Dick dragged the unconscious man to the door. There was a bar to be flung aside and then Dick threw the barrier wide open. It was none too soon, for now the fire was swirling in all directions. Staggering beneath his burden the youth hurried into the open and then fell flat, with Arnold Baxter beside him. "What a close call!" murmured Dick, when he was able to rise. He felt weak in the knees, and his hands and face smarted from the blistering received. He looked at Arnold Baxter. The man had not yet recovered and looked to be more dead than alive. Dick remembered having crossed a brook but a short distance away, and to this he went and bathed his burns and brought some water back for Arnold Baxter. His other hand had now become free, so he could work to much better advantage. "He has been seriously hurt, that is certain," thought the youth. "Perhaps he breathed in some of the flames. If he did that he may never get over it." Left to itself the cottage burnt to the ground and then the falling rain put out the hissing embers. In the meantime Dick did what he could to restore Arnold Baxter to consciousness, and at last had the satisfaction of seeing the man open his eyes. "Oh!" murmured the man. "The fire—" "You are out of it," answered Dick soothingly. "Did you—did you haul me out?" "Yes." "It was good of you to do it, Rover," said Arnold Baxter, and then he fainted once more. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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