Ruth Fielding at Snow Camp | Page 4

tracks, and
sat there, hugging her knees and rocking her body to and fro, as she
cried:
"He'll be drowned! Don't you see, he is drowned? And suppose that
bull comes back?"
"That bull won't get us down here, Nell," returned her brother, laying
hold of the roots of the hollow tree and trying to turn it over.
But although he and Ruth both exerted themselves to the utmost, they
could barely stir the stump. Suddenly they heard a struggle going on
inside the hollow shell; as well, a thumping on the thin partition of
wood and a muffled sound of shouting.
"He's alive--the water hasn't filled the hollow," cried Ruth. "Oh, Tom!
we must do something."

"And I'd like to know what?" demanded that youth, in great
perturbation.
The stump rested on the shore, but was half submerged in the water for
most of its length. The unfortunate person imprisoned in the hollow
part of the tree-trunk must be partly submerged in the water, too. Had
the farther end of the stump not rested on a rock, it would have plunged
to the bottom of the creek and the victim of the accident must certainly
have been drowned.
"Why don't he crawl out? Why don't he crawl out?" cried Ruth,
anxiously.
"How's he going to do it?" sputtered Tom.
"Can't he dive down into the water through the hole in the tree and so
come up outside?" demanded the girl from the Red Mill, irritably. "I
never saw such a fellow!"
Whether this referred to Tom, or to the unknown, the former did not
know. But he recognized immediately the good sense in Ruth's
suggestion. Tom leaped out upon the log and stamped upon it. Helen
screamed:
"You'll go into the creek, too, Tom!"
"No, I won't," he replied.
"Then you'll make the stump fall in entirely and the man will be
drowned."
"No, I won't do that, either," muttered Master Tom.
He stamped upon the wooden shell again. A faint halloo answered him,
and the knocking on the inner side of the hollow tree was repeated.
"Come out! Come out!" shouted Tom, "Dive down through the water
and get out. You'll be suffocated there."

But at first the prisoner seemed not to understand--or else was afraid to
make the attempt.
"Oh, if I only had an axe!" groaned Master Tom.
"If you cut into that tree you might do some damage," said his sister,
now so much interested in the prisoner that she got up and came near.
Ruth saw Helen's red cap high up on the bank and she scrambled up
and got it, stuffing it under her coat again.
"We'll keep that out of sight," she said.
"If it hadn't been for that old red thing," growled Tom, "the bull
wouldn't have chased us in the first place."
But all of them were thinking mainly of the person in the hollow of the
old stump. How could they get this person out?
And the answer to that question was not so easily found--as Tom had
observed. They could not roll the stump over; they had no means of
cutting through to the prisoner. But, suddenly, that individual settled
the question without their help. There was a struggle under the log, a
splashing of the water, and then a figure bobbed up out of the shallows.
Ruth screamed and seized it before it fell back again. It was a boy-- a
thin, miserable-looking, dripping youth, no older than Tom, and with
wild, burning eyes looking out of his wet and pallid face. Had it not
been for Ruth and Tom he must have fallen back into the stream again,
he was so weak.
They dragged him ashore, and he fell down, shaking and chattering, on
the edge of the creek. He was none too warmly dressed at the best; the
water now fast congealed upon his clothing. His garments would soon
be as stiff as boards.
"We've got to get him to the Mill, girls," declared Tom. "Come! get
up!" he cried to the stranger. "You must get warmed and have dry

clothing."
"And something hot to drink," said Ruth. "Aunt Alviry will make him
something that will take the cold out of his bones."
The strange boy stared at them, unable, it seemed, to speak a word.
They dragged him upright and pushed him on between them. The bull
had run towards the river and had not come back; so the friends, with
their strange find, hurried on to the public road and crossed the bridge
at the creek, turning off into the orchard path that led up to the Red
Mill.
"What's your name?" demanded Tom of the strange boy.
But all the latter could do was to chatter and shake his head. The icy
water had bitten