The Boy with the U. S. Weather Men | Page 5

with it in a
blinding storm across the flooding lowlands of the Mississippi River.
Again his father's warning not to be foolhardy, came to Ross's
remembrance, and, together with it, the Weather Bureau man's caution.
None the less, the boy knew well that his father would never bid him
hold back from a piece of work that was dangerous or difficult when
life was at stake.
The boat was half full of water from the pouring rain. Ross bailed it out
with a cocoanut-shell to which a handle had been affixed, evidently a
home-made bailer of Anton's manufacture, and, as soon as it was clear
of water, dragged it to the border of the current and launched it. The
craft floated crankily, it was true, but it floated, and, so far as the boy
could tell, it seemed fairly water-tight.
Jumping out again, Ross swung himself into the water and shoved the
boat along beside him. He saw the value of wading as far as possible,
for he knew that, as long as his feet were on the bottom, he could

govern his direction. To what extent he might be able to stem the
current by the use of oars in a boat of that character, he did not know.
Rex, however, was convinced that the boat had been secured expressly
for him, and, as soon as Ross came near enough to the shore, the dog
bounded through the shallow water in long leaps, swimming the last
few feet, and put his paws on the gunwale. Ross picked up the terrier
and heaved him into the boat. Rex gave a snort of satisfaction, shook
himself so that he sent a trundling spray of water clear in his master's
face and then took his post in the bow of the boat and set himself to
barking with all his might and main. It seemed almost as though he
really knew that he was at the head of a rescue expedition and wanted
to convey the information. When at last Rex ceased barking, which was
not for some minutes, Ross gave a shout.
Instantly, at one of the upper windows, something white appeared. In
the darkness the boy could not tell what it might be, but he guessed,
and rightly, that it was Anton's shirt, and he heard again, though faintly,
the answering call across the river.
"Keep up your nerve, Anton," he yelled, through the storm, "I'll be over
there in a minute."
Faintly, again, came the answering cry,
"Hello, Ross! Is that you? I wondered who it was that was coming."
The slow progress made by shoving the boat along, however, was not
at all to Rex's liking. He turned and looked at his master doubtfully,
then barked again. To his disgust, in turn, the boy found that the slope
of the hollow curved away from the house a great deal. He was tempted,
time after time, to jump into the boat and pull straight across, but he
knew that if the force of the current drifted him below the house, he
could never hope to go upstream against it. His only chance was to
make sure that he could reach the middle of the torrent above the house
and drift right down upon it. A few yards' extra leeway would enable
him to steer his cranky craft to the desired spot. So, though it seemed to
him as if he were going away from Anton, and though, indeed, he was

now so far away that the crippled boy's shouts no longer could be heard,
Ross stuck to his intentions, and, still wading, pushed the little craft
up-stream.
Rex protested vigorously. He ran back from the bow and looked into
Ross's face with a reproachful and almost angry bark, as much as to
say:
"You silly! Can't you tell what I brought you here for?"
The boy knew better than the dog.
"Lie down!" he ordered sharply.
Rex, understanding in a doggish way that he was in the wrong
somewhere, went back to his post in the bow, where he stood
dejectedly, his tail no longer at the jaunty angle than it had been before.
At last Ross felt that he had reached a point high enough up the flooded
bank to justify him in the attempt to get across. He jumped into the
home-made skiff, and, setting his strength to the clumsy oars, began to
pull with all his might.
He had not over-estimated the force of the current. As the light craft got
into the swirl, the black water caught it like a feather. Ross pulled with
all his might, but the banks slipped by as though he were in tow of one
of the river steamboats. Never had the boy tugged at a pair of oars as he
did