The wonder stick

by Stanton A. Coblentz

Almost before he was aware of his new peril, he found himself on the surface of an enormous lake—a much larger lake than he had ever seen before. Its rippling indigo expanse spread far, far away, out of sight and to vague infinities; and Ru could make out only dimly the ragged lines of the snow-peaks that fringed the farther shore.

By this time the motion of the log had almost ceased; and, at a barely appreciable speed, Ru was drifting toward the center of the lake. At first he perceived in this no cause for alarm; then, as he observed that hundreds of yards separated him from the bank and that the distance was still widening, sudden terror filled his mind....

How was he to regain the shore? Was he to float out to the middle of the wide waters, far beyond swimming distance of the land? and was he to be there when the sun went down and the darkness dropped over all things? and then again when the sun came up and lighted the world? And would he stay there even till the hunger-pain came and the bad spirits flew down and took him beyond the last mountains, so that he would never again walk with his people among the rocks and woods? Or—most dreadful thought of all!—even if the water-god let him go and he could swim to shore, would he know how to find his way back again to his tribe?

Many times before in his brief career Ru had felt forlorn and forsaken; but never had he been oppressed with the same overwhelming desolation as now, when he gazed across the glittering waters to the tree-lined reaches of the land, and realized that somewhere in those impenetrable vastnesses his people had vanished, and were doubtless even now retreating on some undiscoverable trail. In one swift, cruel stroke, all the terrors of exile flashed across his mind; he felt as if he had been deserted; he felt deliberately trampled upon and thrust aside. And when for a moment he saw himself for what he was—an isolated mite adrift in an unheeding immensity—he had almost ceased to care, would almost have welcomed the smothering flood-waters.

But after an instant of inertia, the old savage desire to live came flaming back upon him. No matter what agonies he suffered, he must save himself; no matter what difficulties and dangers he had to face, he must face and surmount them—he must, for it was the law of life! And if for a while Ru had felt pitifully small, helpless, and abandoned, it was not long before hope had flashed into life again, and had brought his will to life with it, so that he began thoughtfully to calculate his chances of rescue.

First of all, how find his way back to the shore? Never in his life had he attempted to swim much more than the width of a river—would he then be safe in undertaking this far wider distance? Remembering his recent near-fatal experience, he could not persuade himself to take the chance; even the precarious foothold of the log was vastly preferable to the certain risks of the open waters.

But if he was not to leave the log, how return to land? For many minutes Ru pondered without avail, while in growing dismay he gaped at the dark, ragged lines of the trees, whose distance was slowly and yet perceptibly widening. Then, when the delay and the increasing cold and the dread of oncoming night were challenging his better judgment and he again considered hazarding the swim, chance suggested the remedy which his unaided wits could not provide.

Every once in a while, when for the sake of comfort he shifted his weight, the log would lurch and turn abruptly; and on some such occasions, while he was seeking to regain his balance, his feet or hands would fly out haphazard into the water, giving the log a shove that altered its position by a few inches or a foot. At first Ru did not recognize the possible importance of these accidental movements; but after he had observed them several times, it came to him on a sudden that his craft need not move only as the winds and waters dictated! He himself might push it in any direction that he desired! And as this startling thought invaded his mind, he thrust his right hand into the water and shoved with all his might—with the result that the log did actually swerve and turn much as he had surmised it would.

Thus the art of navigation had its beginning!

But the discovery was not without its drawbacks. Although he could indeed propel the log in any desired direction, he found his craft to be most ungainly; it responded with the utmost slowness to his will, and moved only by inches toward the too-distant shore. After the passage of an hour—an hour of most strenuous paddling, during which Ru several times lost his balance and fell into the water—his goal was obviously nearer, and yet still so remote that he almost gave up hope of reaching it.