Of course, the question of installing motive power was discussed, and Morrel caused a great laugh by his suggestion to purchase the Swan and use its engine for the glider. “We could make the propeller with a couple of canoe paddles,” suggested Vinton.
After the colors were down and the anthem had been sung, it was too late for gliding, for the dusk was lowering rapidly. It was decided to leave the glider where it was, at least till after camp-fire, to see if the night bade fair to be clear. Harry said he would go up and see if the stakes were secure, for the breeze was freshening up. He went up the hill in the dusk, feeling wretchedly unhappy and kicking stones to right and left, as he walked. They saw his slender figure silhouetted against the gray sky.
“Anything the matter with him?” some one asked.
“No, surely not—why?”
“Seems kind of quiet, that’s all.”
Harry looked at the stakes, pressed one a little farther down with his foot, and then went up and sat on the rock, looking admiringly at the graceful framework. There, beside him on the rock, were crudely graven the initials “G. L.” Gordon’s failure to show up at supper had amused him a little, it was so characteristic of him. He thought of the night he had waited under Dibble Mountain and how Gordon had communicated with him through the darkness. He looked down upon the dank stretch of land below him, under the cliff. The wind was blowing, as it had blown all day, up the hill. It was quite brisk, and he had to pull his hat down tight to keep it from blowing off. It was just right for gliding down the slope. Its direction could be plainly seen even in the land below (despite the windbreak of hill), where the reeds all leaned away from the cliff.
As he watched the bending reeds, he noticed something which aroused his interest. It looked like some one standing in the midst of them. Then he realized that the figure must be kneeling, for it did not rise as high as the surrounding growths. What with the dusk, the distance, and the swaying of the reeds about it, he could only see it intermittently and indistinctly. But surely there was some one there, kneeling or stooping. He looked closer, concentrated his gaze, and shuddered, as a dreadful thought came to him.
The figure was neither kneeling nor stooping. Nor was it standing. While he gazed, leveling all the strength of his vision upon it, a gust of wind blew his hat off, over the precipice, and the same gust blew the distant reeds far down, showing the figure clearly. He saw a spasmodic motion of an arm, grasping the reeds. It seemed to have no legs. It was nothing but the upper part of a person’s body, with two arms swinging frantically. Now the swampy growths stood upright and the figure was concealed. Presently they swayed again, far over, seeming to change color as they bent. And there was the figure—lower than before, its arms clutching the reeds. As Harry watched, he was sure that he could see it sinking, slowly. Then the stump of head and chest and spreading arms was hidden in the reeds and swampy grass.
He knew now what it meant. There must be quicksand there, and the wretched person was being slowly drawn down to his death. A terrible fear gripped him. Parks had said that Gordon was going down there after a beaver!
He lost not one second’s time. Always cool, always level-headed, he was so now. And since he was not in a panic, neither work nor time was wasted. He ran down the slope to the glider, cut the ropes which held it, brought it around facing the cliff, got into it, and came up to the edge. He knew that what he was about to do had never been done but once, and that once was when the famous Lilienthal went crashing to his death. He was not going into the wind, he was going with it. But he gave not a thought to his own peril, he had to get out there at all costs.