The Boy with the U. S. Weather Men | Page 6

now, and never had he so wished for a good boat and for real oars.
He was only two-thirds of the distance across to the house when it
came into sight, only a little distance below him.
He would not reach it!
With the energy of despair, Ross tugged on his oars, every muscle of
his body tense with the strain.
Rex, divining the struggle, stood silent, not looking forward over the
bow as he had been doing, but watching his master as he toiled with his

oars.
Then, out from the darkness, shot the long black menace of a floating
tree trunk. Straight for the boat it sped.
From the window, now close at hand, came a cry:
"Look out, Ross! Look out!"
Ross saw the danger. He knew, if he backed water, or halted long
enough to let the tree go by, he would infallibly be swept past the house
and all hope of rescuing Anton would be gone. He saw, too, that if the
tree struck the frail boat, it would sink it as a battleship's ram sinks a
fishing-boat in a fog at sea. He might win through, but if it struck--
The oars creaked with the sudden strain thrown on them.
On came the tree, but, just as it was about to strike the boat, it checked
and turned half over, as the projecting stump of a broken bough caught
on the ground below. For an instant, only, the tree halted and began to
swing.
The halt gave a moment's respite, one more chance for an extra pull
with the oars. The big log, thus poised, made a backwater eddy on the
surface of the river, checking the force of the current. Ross reached
back for another stroke, with every ounce of his muscle behind it.
The tree turned over sullenly and charged down the river anew. Yet that
brief pause, that second of delay, that back-water ripple as the log hung
in suspension, had given Ross just the advantage that was needed. The
branches of the upper part of the tree swept round, one of them
catching the stern of the boat and almost pulling it under. Peril had
been near, but victory was nearer. The bow of the boat touched the wall
of the house.
The current, swirling around the rocking walls, carried the boat to the
lee of the house, and, as it spun round, Ross leaped on to the porch,
chest-deep in water, and took a quick turn with the boat's painter

around the corner post of the porch.
The torrent took his feet from under him, and swept him down-stream,
floating, but Ross held a firm grip on the rope and dragged himself
back. There, clasping the post tightly, he got back his breath. After a
moment's groping he found the railing of the porch. By standing on this
and holding fast to the corner post, he was, for the moment, out of
danger.
He had reached the house, but how was Anton to be rescued?
The crippled boy was on the second story and the upper window could
not be reached from the boat, even if the boat could have been held in
place directly under it. Fortunately, Ross knew the arrangements of his
chum's house as well as he did those of his own. Stepping gingerly
along the porch railing, he came close to the window of the sitting
room. The glass was still in the window frame, but as the front door
was swinging wide open, though partly choked with débris, Ross knew
that the sitting room must be full of water. He kicked the glass out and
then, with a heavier kick, broke away the middle part of the
window-sash. The water did not come quite to the top of the window
frame, sure evidence that there was room for air between the water and
the ceiling.
Taking a long breath, but with his heart knocking against his ribs, Ross
dived through the broken window. It is one thing to be able to swim
and dive, it is another to plunge through a splintered window-frame
into a dark house in the middle of the night, with a flood roaring on all
sides.
Was the door into the hall open? On that, success depended.
The boy turned sharply to the left as he came up to the surface and took
breath. His hand struck the top of the door jamb. The door was open,
but the casing was only three inches above the water. Ross dived again
through the door, and, under water, turned to the right. One swimming
stroke brought him to the staircase and he rushed up the few steps at the
top to the room above.

There, by the light of a single candle, he saw Anton,