“I’m all right, I guess,” said Jimmy, his round face becoming more cheerful as the pain in his feet subsided. “Got plenty of bruises I guess, but I don’t mind them.”
With intense relief the boys realized that what he said was true. It had been a miracle that he should have escaped with only a few scratches and bruises to tell the story. As it was, if the falling tree had caught him just a little bit sooner—but resolutely they turned away from that thought.
As soon as Jimmy found that he could hobble along, they turned and began the stiff fight back to the lodge. And it was a fight, every inch of the way.
The wind seemed like a human enemy against whom they had to exert every ounce of their strength. It wrestled them, buffeted them, snatched at their breath, at times sent them reeling against the trunk of a tree.
The journey was made still harder for them because of the weakened condition of Jimmy. Although he had not been seriously hurt, the shock of his experience had been terrific. Toward the end the boys fairly had to carry him along.
When they finally came within sight of the lodge they saw a sight that made their hearts jump wildly. Half a dozen rangers were running through the woods, armed with shovels and wet sacks.
As the boys stared, two of them turned and started for the door of the lodge. Bob rushed forward, shouting to them. It was then he saw that one of the men was Mr. Bentley.
“Let’s get inside,” he snapped at Bob. “We can’t talk in this wind.”
Swiftly Bob drew the key from his pocket and fitted it in the lock. The door flew open and the wind fairly swept them inside. With an effort Bob got the door shut, turned and faced the men.
“A fire over on the ridge,” said Mr. Bentley, curtly. His face was drawn and there were grim lines about his mouth. “Can you boys send out some radio messages for us?”