Then, in a sudden deep lull in the storm, they heard it. Faintly it came to them—a cry for help—smothered the next minute by the fury of the wind.
But it was enough for the boys. That had been Jimmy’s voice, and with a wild shout they turned in the direction from which it had come.
They found him, lying on his side, the branches of a great tree pinning him to the earth. There was perspiration on his face, either from pain or his desperate struggles to get free. His chums did not know which, and they spent little time trying to find out.
Down on their knees they went, shouting encouragement to Jimmy while they tried to lift the heavy branches from him. It was all they could do with their combined strength to lift the limb which pinned their comrade to the ground, but they managed it at last. The heavier weight removed, it took them but a few minutes to cut off the rest of the branches.
Then Jimmy was free! But he made no effort to rise. Bob knelt beside him anxiously.
“Are you much hurt, old man?” he asked, putting an arm gently beneath the lad’s shoulders. “Do you think you can get up?”
“I guess so,” said Jimmy, struggling to a sitting position. He grimaced with pain and rubbed an ankle gingerly. “I feel kind of numb and queer.”
“Humph, I should think you would, after all that,” returned Herb, adding with, for him, unusual gentleness: “How about it, Doughnuts? Think there are any bones broken?”
Jimmy shook his head, and, with Bob’s assistance, struggled gamely to his feet. There was the exquisite torture of returning circulation in his feet. He felt as though he were standing on a bed of needles with all the sharp points turned upward. He bit his lips to keep back a groan.
The boys regarded him anxiously while Bob felt him carefully all over to make sure there were no broken bones.