The Mail Carrier

by Harry Castlemon

“You needn’t be afraid of that. The weight of your finger on my shoulder will keep your head out of water, and that is all you want. Now, fall back so that I can have plenty of elbow-room. That’s the idea.”

George placed his hand upon Bob’s shoulder, allowed himself to swing back out of the way so that the swimmer could freely use his arms, and in this manner was towed toward the shore. Bob turned his head once or twice to say an encouraging word to him, but finding that George was not in the least frightened, he did not speak again until he reached the shore. It was hard work to swim so long a distance in that swift current, with his boots and all his clothes on, and dragging a boy behind him as heavy as himself, and he needed all his breath. He struck the bank fully a mile below the landing, and in an almost exhausted condition. George was obliged to help him out of the water. He recovered his breath in a few minutes, however, and as soon as he was able to stand upon his feet, he divested himself of his coat, pulled off his boots and stockings, and rolled up the legs of his trousers.

“It will be easier walking now,” said he, by way of explanation. “These wet things are heavy, and I am so tired that I don’t want to carry any unnecessary weight.”

But this was not the reason why Bob pulled off some portions of his clothing. He knew that he would be obliged to board the steamer in full view of the men at the landing, and he had been thinking about it ever since he began towing George toward the shore. He had escaped recognition once, it is true, but that thought did not encourage him. He was famous now, and everybody would want to take a good look at the boy who had nerve enough to jump overboard and save another from drowning. He was glad that his valise was safe on board the boat. With that in his hand his detection would have been almost certain.

After resting a few minutes, the two boys scrambled along the bank toward the landing, but before they had gone half a mile they discovered a party of men coming in search of them. When they had approached a little nearer George informed his rescuer that he knew four of them—the captain, first mate, and Mr. Black and Mr. Scanlan, the two pilots belonging to the steamer. Bob recognised one of them, and after running his eye over the party a second time, told himself that there was also another whom he had met somewhere very recently. He was not as glad to see them as George was to see his friends. One was the owner of the corn that had just been placed on board the steamer, and the other was—no—yes, it was the constable. Bob stopped, rubbed his eyes, and looked again; but there was no mistake about it.

About half an hour after Bob left the house, the officer awoke and found that his prisoner was gone. He ran at once to the stable to see if his horse was gone also. He was, and this led the constable to believe that Bob had mounted him and fled up the river. Being an easy-going sort of person, who did not think it worth while to do anything to-day that could be put off until to-morrow, he decided not to begin the pursuit until morning. Then he would raise a squad of men and scour the country in every direction.

After finding that the horse was gone, the constable went down to the landing and questioned the men who were standing about the fire. They were greatly astonished to find that Bob had escaped, and declared that he could not possibly have boarded the boat without being seen by them, for they had been at the landing ever since the steamer arrived. The officer, however, thought it best to be sure on this point, so he went on board the Sam Kendall, accompanied by some of his friends, and gave her a good looking over. He looked in almost every place except the one in which Bob was concealed, and went ashore firm in his belief that his prisoner would be found farther up the river. Bob, of course, knew nothing of this, but he did know that the constable was within speaking distance, and the sight of him deprived him so completely of his little remaining strength that he was obliged to take hold of a bush to keep himself from falling.

“What’s the matter, Bob?” asked George, who at once sprang to his side and threw his arm about his waist to support him. “You’re just tuckered out, aint you? I don’t wonder at it. Lean on me till the men come up. Hurry on, Mr. Black!”

The men were coming as fast as they could, and in a few minutes more were near enough to seize George by the hand, which they did one after the other, greeting him as though they had never expected to see him again. Then they turned to Bob, who stood leaning against the bank, with his dripping coat muffled about his head and face.

“Don’t ask him to talk to you now,” exclaimed George, just in time to check a volley of questions. “He hasn’t breath enough to say a word. It was all he could do to get me ashore. Take him by the arms, a couple of you, and give him a lift!”