Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat; Or, The Rivals of Lake Carlopa

by Victor Appleton

  CHAPTER XI

  A QUICK RUN

  "Where are you?" cried Tom. "Are you hurt? Where are you?"

  Uttering these words after he had hurried into the woods a shortdistance, the young inventor paused for an answer. At first he couldhear nothing but the drip of water from the branches of the trees;then, as he listened intently, he became aware of a groan not far away.

  "Where are you?" cried the lad again. "I've come to help you. Whereare you?"

  He had lost what little fear he had had at first, that it might be oneof the unscrupulous gang, and came to the conclusion that he mightsafely offer to help.

  Once more the groan sounded and it was followed by a faint voicespeaking:

  "Here I am, under the big oak tree. Oh, whoever you are, help mequickly! I'm bleeding to death!"

  With the sound of the voice to guide him, Tom swung around. The appealhad come from the left and, looking in that direction, he saw, throughthe mist, a large oak tree. Leaping over the underbrush toward it hecaught sight of the wounded man at its foot. Beside him lay a gun andthere was a wound in the man's right arm.

  "Who shot you?" cried Tom, hurrying to the side of the man. "Was itsome of those patent thieves?" Then, realizing that a stranger wouldknow nothing of the men who had stolen the model, Tom prepared tochange the form of his question. But, before he had an opportunity todo this, the man, whose eyes were closed, opened them, and, as he got abetter sight of his face, Tom uttered a cry.

  "Why, it's Mr. Duncan!" exclaimed the lad. He had recognized the richhunter, whom he had first met in the woods that spring shortly afterHappy Harry, the tramp, had disabled Tom's motor-cycle. "Mr. Duncan,"the young inventor repeated, "how did you get shot?"

  "Is that you, Tom Swift?" asked the gunner. "Help me, please. I muststop this bleeding in my arm. I'll tell you about it afterward. Windsomething around it tight--your handkerchief will do."

  The man sighed weakly and his eyes closed again. The lad saw the bloodspurting from an ugly wound.

  "I must make a tourniquet," the youth exclaimed. "That will check thebleeding until I can get him to a doctor."

  With Tom to think was to act. He took out his knife and cut off Mr.Duncan's sleeves below the injury, slashing through coat and shirts.Then he saw that part of a charge of shot had torn away some of thelarge muscular development of the upper arm. The hunter seemed to havefainted and the youth worked quickly. Tying his handkerchief above thewound and inserting a small stone under the cloth, so that the pebblewould press on the main artery, Tom put a stick in the handkerchief andbegan to twist it. This had the effect of tightening the linen aroundthe arm, and in a few seconds the lad was glad to see that the bloodhad stopped spurting out with every beat of the heart. Giving thetourniquet a few more twists to completely stop the flow of blood, Tomfastened the stick-lever in place by a bit of string.

  "That's--that's better," murmured Mr. Duncan. "Now if you can go for adoctor--" He had to pause for breath.

  "I'll not leave you here alone while I go for a doctor," declared Tom."I have my motor-boat on the lake. Do you think I could get you downto it and take you home?"

  "Perhaps--maybe. I'll be stronger in a moment, now that the bleedinghas stopped. But not--not home--frighten my wife. Take me to thesanitarium if you can--sanitarium up the lake, a few miles from here."

  The unfortunate man, who had tried to sit upright, had to lean backagainst the tree again. Tom understood what he meant in spite of thebroken sentences. Mr. Duncan did not want to be taken home in thecondition he was then in, for fear of alarming his wife. He wanted tobe taken to the sanitarium, and Tom knew where this was, a well-knownresort for the treatment of various diseases and surgical cases. Itwas about five miles away and on the opposite shore of the lake.

  "Water--a drink!" murmured Mr. Duncan.

  Seeing that his patient would be all right, for a few minutes at least,Tom hurried to his motor-boat, got a cup and, filling it with waterfrom a jug he carried, he hastened with it to the hunter. The fluidrevived the man wonderfully and now that the bleeding had almostcompletely stopped, Mr. Duncan was much stronger.

  "Do you think you can get to the boat, if I help you?" asked Tom.

  "Yes, I believe so. To think of meeting you again, and under suchcircumstances! It is providential."

  "Did someone shoot you?" inquired Tom, who could not get out of hishead the notion of the men who had once assaulted him.

  "No, I shot myself," answered Mr. Duncan as he got to his feet withTom's help. "I was out with my gun, practicing just as I was that daywhen I met you in the woods. I stooped down to crawl under a bush andthe weapon went off, the muzzle being close against my arm. I can'tunderstand how it happened. I fell down and called for help. Then Iguess I must have fainted, but I came to when I heard you talking tome. I shouldn't have come out to-day as it is so wet, but I had somenew shot shells I wished to try in order to test them before thehunting season. But if I can get to the sanitarium, I will be welltaken care of. I know one of the doctors there."

  With Tom leading him and acting as a sort of support, the journey tothe motor-boat was slowly made. Making as comfortable a bed aspossible out of the seat cushions, Tom assisted Mr. Duncan to it, andthen starting the engine he sent his boat out from shore at half speed,as the fog was still thick and he did not want to run upon a rock.

  "Do you know where the sanitarium is?" asked the wounded hunter.

  "About," answered Tom a little doubtfully, "but I'm afraid it's goingto be hard to locate it in this fog."

  "There's a compass in my coat pocket," said Mr. Duncan. "Take it outand I'll tell you how to steer. You ought to carry a compass if you'regoing to be a sailor."

  Tom was beginning to think so himself and wondered that he had notthought of it before. He found the one the hunter had, and placing iton the seat near him, he carefully listened to the wounded man'sdirections. Tom easily comprehended and soon had the boat headed inthe proper direction. After that it was comparatively easy to keep onthe right course, even in the fog.

  But there was another danger, however, and this was that he might runinto another boat. True, there were not many on Lake Carlopa, butthere were some, and one of the few motor-boats might be out in spiteof the bad weather.

  "Guess I'll not run at full speed," decided Tom. "I wouldn't like tocrash into the RED STREAK. We'd both sink."

  So he did not run his motor at the limit and sat at the steering-wheel,peering ahead into the fog for the first sight of another craft.

  He turned to look at Mr. Duncan and was alarmed at the pallor of hisface. The man's eyes were closed and he was breathing in a peculiarmanner.

  "Mr. Duncan," cried Tom, "are you worse?"

  There was no answer. Leaving the helm for a moment, Tom bent over theinjured hunter. A glance showed him what had happened. The tourniquethad slipped and the wound was bleeding again. Tom quickly shut off themotor, so that he might give his whole attention to the work oftightening the handkerchief. But something seemed to be wrong. Nomatter how tightly he twisted the stick the blood did not stop flowing.The lad was frightened. In a short time the man would bleed to death.

  "I've got to get him to the sanitarium in record time!" exclaimed Tom."Fog or no fog, I've got to run at full speed! I've got to chance it!"

  Making the bandage as tight as he could and fastening it in place, theyoung inventor sprang to the motor and set it in motion. Then he wentto the wheel. In a few minutes the ARROW was speeding through thewater as it had never done before, except when it had raced the REDSTREAK. "If I hit anything--good-by!" thought Tom grimly. His handswere tense on the rim of the steering-wheel and he was ready in aninstant to reverse the motor as he sat there straining his eyes to seethrough the curtain of mist that hung over the lake. Now and then heglanced at the compass, to keep on the right course, and from time totime he looked at Mr. Duncan. The hunter was still unconscious.

  How Tom ac
complished that trip he hardly remembered afterward. Throughthe fog he shot, expecting any moment to crash into some other boat.He did pass a rowing craft in which sat a lone fisherman. The lad wasupon him in an instant, but a turn of the wheel sent the ARROW safelypast, and the startled fisherman, whose frail craft was set to rockingviolently by the swell from the motor-boat, sent an objecting crythrough the fog after Tom. But the youth did not reply. On and on heraced, getting the last atom of power from his motor.

  He feared Mr. Duncan would be dead when he arrived, but when he saw thedock of the sanitarium looming up out of the mist and shut off thepower to slowly run up to it, he placed his hand on the wounded man'sheart and found it still beating.

  "He's alive, anyhow," thought the youth, and then his craft bumped upagainst the bulkhead and a man in the boathouse on the dock was sent onthe run for a physician.

  Mr. Duncan was quickly taken up to the sanitarium on a stretcher andTom followed.

  "You must have made a record run," observed one of the physicians alittle while afterward, when Tom was telling of his trip while waitingin the office to hear the report on the hunter's condition.

  "I guess I did," muttered the young inventor "only I didn't think so atthe time. It seemed as if we were only crawling along."