CHAPTER X
In which Clarence engages in a swimming race, and to the consternation of Dora, disappears in the waters of the Mississippi.
On the following day, the camp did not break up at the usual early hour. Pete remained in his tent nursing his injuries. The gypsies were kept mindful of his presence, now by an occasional bellow from the leader, now by a roaring burst of profanity. Ben had disappeared early in the morning; and it was for him they were waiting before they proceeded further.
It was nearly noon-time when he returned. After an interview with Pete, he called Clarence aside.
“Do you know where I have been, my boy?”
“No; where?”
“To McGregor.”
“You have! Is it far from here?”
“It’s ten miles down the river.”
“And what about my parents?”
“They stayed over at McGregor till yesterday afternoon, hoping to recover your body.”
“My body?”
“Yes. They are sure you were drowned. They have been dragging the river for you ever since you disappeared. Yesterday, your father had to leave. There’s a reward of one thousand dollars for your body.”
“Gee! I didn’t know I was worth that much.”
“Clarence,” continued Ben, “I’m sorry we’ve kept you. It isn’t all my fault. And I’m sorry about Dora. Pete is a born kidnapper; and he has more power than me. Anyhow, no matter what happens, so long as I’m alive I’ll see that no harm comes to that dear little girl.”
“Ben, you are a good fellow.” And Clarence shook Ben’s hand with vigor.
Within fifteen minutes the gypsies were on the road. They made only five or six miles that day, and about two hours before sunset pitched their tents in a clearing at the river side about fifteen miles north of Prairie du Chien.
Clarence, at the first opportunity, went to the river and looked about for a good place to swim. There was no need for a search. The suitable place was awaiting him. He had hardly got into his bathing suit when Ezra appeared and, saying little, followed him into the water.
Ezra was a good swimmer. He used a powerful overhand stroke.
“Say, Ezra, why do you always swim overhand?”
“It’s the best and swiftest,” answered the gypsy boy.
“It may be the swiftest,” returned Clarence; “but it’s no good for a long swim. I prefer going sailor fashion.”
“It’s the best for a long swim, if you’ve got the strength to keep it up,” retorted Ezra.
“All the same,” said Clarence, “I’ve got to see the boy who can beat me out in a long distance swim, if he sticks to the overhand.”
“You mean to say you can beat me?” said Ezra.
“Of course, I can,” returned Clarence superbly. “I can beat you or any of your family.”
“You see that island in the middle of the river?” asked Ezra, pointing as he spoke to a long, low island nearly a mile in length. Clarence looked at it intently. It was thickly wooded and ended to the south in a clump of willows deeply submerged in the water. The two boys were bathing in a spot facing almost directly the middle of the long island.
“It seems to me I do,” answered Clarence; “and it must be at least half a mile from us.”
“I’ll race you to the island,” said Ezra.
“You’ll lose,” returned Clarence.
“Hey!” cried Ezra, “hey, Ben! this kid says he can beat me to that island. May I race him?”
“Come here, you two,” said Ben, approaching them. As Pete was still nursing an inflamed neck, face, and temper, Ben was now in command of the camp. “Here’s a good place for diving off,” he continued, pointing to a spot where the bank rose three feet or more above the water’s edge. “Stand back, both of you, on a line with me, and when I say ‘go’ start out with a good dive.”
The two lads ranged themselves beside Ben. Clarence appeared to be unusually serious. One would think, looking upon him just then, that the winning of this race was to him a matter of life and death. The color had almost entirely left his cheeks, his mouth was closed tight, his chin thrown out, and his whole poise indicated supreme earnestness.
“Are you both ready?” asked Ben.
“I am,” returned Ezra, who was quite cool and perfectly confident.
“Wait one second,” said Clarence. Then he gravely bowed his head and made the Sign of the Cross.
“Wait!” came another voice; and all three turning saw Pete’s wife hurrying towards them.
Holding out a skinny finger and pointing it impressively at Clarence, she screamed:
“May you sink, and never come up. May you drown, and your body never be found. May my curse follow you into the other world.”
“Is that all, ma’am?” asked Clarence breaking into his sunniest smile.
The woman choked with rage. She tried to speak, but words and voice both failed her.
“Come on, boys,” resumed Ben. “Ready?”
“Yes,” answered the two in a breath.
“Go!”
At the word, the boys sprang into the water. Both disappeared beneath the surface at the same time. Within a few seconds, Ezra emerged and his hands rose high and fast above his head in the overhand stroke. Several seconds passed, and those watching on the shore began to show signs of nervousness. All the gypsies, save, of course, the snarling and profane invalid, were now gathered together beside Ben. Even Dora, who was never to be seen at the river side when the men were swimming, had joined the gazers, standing a few yards apart.
“Oh, Ben,” she cried, “what’s happened to Clarence?”
Ben made no answer. Scanning the surface of the river intently, he was pulling off his shoes.
“He’s drowned! He’s drowned!” screamed the gypsy hag. “My curse has fallen.” Her laugh, horrible to the ear, rang out carrying in its undertones all manner of evil omen.
As the woman was speaking, Dora fell upon her knees.
“Holy Mary,” she cried aloud, “save your dear child, Clarence. Remember he is not baptized.”
The girl had not yet finished her adjuration when a great shout arose from the men and shrill screams from the children. Far out, fully five yards ahead of Ezra and as many yards further down stream, Clarence came to the surface. The boy had been the best long distance diver of all the youngsters attending Clermont Academy, the eastern boarding school.
A howl of rage arose from the old woman.
“Get up! Get up!” she cried, rushing with outstretched and hooked claws at the kneeling girl. It was only by the quickest of movements that Ben was able to save the child from bodily injury. As it was, the woman dashed into Ben’s rigid and protecting elbow, and, doubled up with pain, retired shrieking and cursing to the genial companionship of her husband.
Meantime the race went on bravely. The two boys for the next ten minutes retained their respective positions, with, however, one point of difference. Ezra was swimming in almost a direct line; Clarence was being carried down the river by the current. As the moments passed, the distance between the two visibly widened.
Ben was wringing his hands and frowning.
“What is it, Ben?” asked Dora. “Is there any danger? Is there anything wrong?”
“I’m afraid,” Ben made answer, “that if Clarence doesn’t fight the current more strongly, he may be carried down below the island. Unless he’s a wonderful swimmer, there will be danger.”
Ben’s forebodings promised, as the moments went on, to be justified. Both boys were nearing the island, Ezra not more than twenty yards below the point from which he had set out. Clarence quite near the clump of southernmost willows.
“Do you think he’ll reach it?” cried the girl.
“I hope so; I don’t know.”
Once more Dora fell upon her knees, and crossing herself, prayed with streaming eyes to the heavenly Mother in whom she ever confided.
“Look,” cried Ben. “Ezra has reached the island. And Clarence is trying to swim upstream so as not to miss it. My God!” he continued, “I do believe he’s giving out!”
A deathly silence had come upon all. Clarence was swimming wildly. He had abandoned the sailor stroke and was beating the water with aimless hands. On the stillness his voice reached them.
“Help! Help!” he cried.
Then throwing up his hands, apparently within a few yards of the willows, he disappeared in the calm river.