likely to
be of use to them whenever they chanced to be in the great woods.
The sky was clear again long before the last boy had concluded that it
was safe to crawl into his tent once more, and try to sleep.
And whoever happened to be on guard, kept the fire going throughout the
remainder of that eventful night.
No further adventure broke upon their heads, and in good time dawn
appeared in the eastern sky. There was much merriment as the boys went
for a morning dip in the waters of the Bushkill. Many jokes were made
about the new order of things in camp that necessitated a shower-bath at
midnight.
"Be careful, fellows," Paul admonished, as he saw that most of the
scouts were bent on trying the water of the rapid little stream.
"There's a bad current here, and if it gets hold of you grab a rock and
yell. To be dashed down there wouldn't be the nicest thing going."
Jack agreed to keep an eye on the clump, for Paul had duties in camp
just then. He expected to take a dip himself a little later on.
Hardly had ten minutes passed before he heard a loud series of shouts.
"Hold hard, Tom! Make a chain there, you fellows, and get him before he
lets go! Hurry up, can't you?"
It was Jack Stormways shouting these words. Paul knew instantly that
some one must have been caught by the current, and was in danger of
being dragged along down the stream to where it dashed wildly against
the rocks.
The young patrol leader lost not an instant. Snatching up a rope that
happened to lie handy, he rushed for the bank of the river.
Instinct caused him to head for a point below where Jack was standing,
trying to reach some object with a long pole he handled awkwardly. Even
in that thrilling moment Paul could think, and was able to understand
that the ever flowing current must sweep any helpless swimmer past
Jack's position in quick order.
As he ran Paul was trying to fashion a loop in the end of the rope. Had
he not been perfectly calm he could never have succeeded in doing this
difficult feat; but when he reached the bank he had managed to
accomplish it.
What he saw was a tumble of water, which was almost covered with foam.
Somewhere in this poor Tom Betts must be floating, churned back and
forth by the suction of the current that was striving to escape from the
whirl.
Jack had evidently lost sight of the drowning lad completely, for he was
even then running toward Paul, his face as white as chalk.
There! Paul had
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