CHAPTER X
A PENCIL LINE
Lee did not know just what had happened in that brief interval when henodded at his post, but he awoke to find himself sprawled in the midstof radio wreckage on the floor of his cabin, which was reeling androcking, adrift in the flood. Water swishing over his face had broughthim around. It was coming in fast now, and the cabin was sinking. Hewould have to get out.
Something must have struck him when the flood swept off the cabin, forhis head throbbed dizzily. Nevertheless he managed to climb to therafters, dragging with him his little shoulder-pack radio though hefeared the fall had ruined it. Hacking with his pocket-knife, he toreoff enough shingles to let himself out on the roof.
All about him stretched a horrible yellow sea. On its drift were otherflood-loosed buildings, tangle of house furnishings, swollen deadanimals, bellies up, and now and then a human corpse.
Like some frail skiff sucked into the wake of a great ocean liner, Lee'ssodden little roof rolled smashingly against a big two-story cupolaeddwelling that was careening magnificently on its way to the Gulf ofMexico. The boy was catapulted into the air, then down into the flood,and came up, swimming for life. When the waves flung him against the bigderelict again, he clung desperately to the ragged planking of what oncemust have been the porch, caught his breath, and began to draw himselfup into this new haven of doubtful safety.
Heavy with weariness and the weight of water, it was a momentous matterto inch himself up the house wall to gain a high window sill and tocrawl over. Half-fainting from exhaustion, he fell inside on theslippery floor.
A voice beat in his ears. It was startling to have words come out ofthat shadowy corner across the room.
"Hi, stranger! A perilous ride we're having!" Lying on the floor was aheavy-built man with iron-gray hair, and skin bronzed almost tomahogany. His face was drawn with pain and one leg was stiffly bound incrude splints made of broken chair slats. "Captain Jan Bartlot,explorer, welcomes you to his home." A hand was extended as Lee crawledacross the floor. "Devil of an exploration we're on now! Looks like ourlast one, though I've been in worse fixes and come out--once in Egypt,another time in Borneo."
Lee felt that this was some mysterious dream he was having. The flood,the drifting, this man with bronzed face and queer accent--all seemedpart and parcel of the dream. It was too strange to be true.
But it was true. And this did look to be the last voyage in this lifefor the man and the boy unless rescue came to them. But how could theyget help--how let people know of their perilous position?
His radio could do it! If only he could make it work.
Lee's whole body was a mass of weariness; his head was still dizzy. Butas his senses cleared, he mechanically set to work to repair his littleshoulder-pack radio. On the wave-rocked floor he spread out the parts.The heavy little cogwheels, the crankshaft, the coil of stoutwire--these could be patched together. Lee rummaged through the derelicthouse for repair material. He smashed open the swollen doors of closetsand cupboards and found glass jars, some tins, nails and pieces of wire.With these he went forward with his task. But it was hopeless! He couldfind nothing to replace the delicate network of minute wiring that hadcrossed the little selenized sheets in the transmitter and receiver. Theblow that had torn this fragile meshwork away had destroyed allusefulness of the radio. There was nothing for Lee to do except wait andwatch the flood wastes for some rescue boat.
Meantime he would try to keep the stranger with the broken leg ascomfortable as possible on that dipping, careening house floor. It isremarkable how, in times of dire stress, two utter strangers can bedrawn together. In a short time they are as old friends. Friendship madeand cemented by danger! Lee Renaud and Captain Bartlot talked of manythings.
One could almost forget present danger in listening to Captain Bartlot,mining explorer, tell of the weird, out-of-the-way places of the worldwhere he had gone in search of the rare stones and minerals that werehis hobbies. He had prospected down in tropic jungles, where one had tododge the poison darts of black head-hunters, where one encounteredmonster animals and reptiles. He had gone into the Arctic wastes, intothe underground treasure-houses of buried cities, into the tombs of theancients.
"If this ark of ours would only stop pitching so, why, boy, I'd show yousome of the specimens I have in this case," Bartlot said, his handtouching a leather roll that lay beside him on the floor. "There's oneof those rare green fire-diamonds from out of an Aztec king's tomb, anda piece of nickel-iron star stone from a meteor that fell in frozenGreenland. Rather far extremes, eh? A New York museum wants to buy mycollection. I came back to my old home where I could catalog myspecimens in peace and write up their histories for museum records. Andafter all my travels and close calls, here I am in my own living-room,my leg smashed by a cabinet sliding across the floor, and the wholehouse adrift on the flood tide of my native Alabama River."
The lurching of the drifting house ended the sentence in a groan, as theinjured man, despite Lee's efforts, rolled across the floor.
"The water is coming in fast now," said Lee. "Do you think I could helpyou upstairs?"
With a bed slat for a crutch, Bartlot labored up the stairway, youngRenaud lifting and tugging to the limit of his strength. Somehow theyaccomplished it though Bartlot fell unconscious when the last step wasachieved. Diamonds in their leather roll and some useless radio junk hadno particular value in a crisis like this. Nevertheless, Renaud returnedto the first floor and carried these possessions, some tins of food, anda couple of soggy blankets up the slippery stair. Step by step, thehungry waters crept up and up behind him.
What would the end be? Would this sagging, sinking building last muchlonger? A booming detonation hurled a negative answer to the question.
A floating mass of logs and uprooted trees had crashed into a portion ofthe old house. Lower and lower in the flood tide rode the batteredderelict. The water was coming up to the second floor.
There was still the cupola tower above the roof. If they could reachthat! With a blanket knotted under the unconscious man's arms, Lee beganto drag him up the narrow, ladder-like stair that led into this turret.His heart was sick at the horrible jolting he had to inflict on theinjured man. A blessing on his unconsciousness! It must hold him in itspall until--until--now they were up!
Lee carried their belongings up this second flight, and wedged thetrapdoor down between them and that creeping flood below. Here wassafety until the house battered to pieces in the torrent.
Jan Bartlot came out of his stupor and lay very still, clenching histeeth against groaning.
Death lurked near. To keep his mind off the boom and thunder of theflood, off the lap of water creeping, creeping up toward their lastrefuge, Lee Renaud bent over his wrecked radio. His fingers straighteneda loop of aerial here, made a connection there, cranked at the motorshaft for power. It was all no use. Too much of the selenized platewiring missing! But he had to be doing something.
Crouching in this last lift of floor space, he idly drew his pencilpoint back and forth across the tiny receiver plate, outlining the meshof missing wires--and almost screamed as a faint buzzing seemed tofollow in the path of the pencil lines.
Extraordinary! Out of all reason! Electricity following a pencil line asthough it were a wire!
A faint hope burned!
Like a madman, Lee cranked at the generator arm, adjusted transmitterand receiver, shot the buzzer.
And like a miracle sweeping over that yellow torrent, a sound came tohim in the receiver:
"Renaud? That you? Been searching all night. First buzz signal just hitus. Where are you?"
"Stand by, Lem!" Renaud cranked frantically for more power. "Out in anold cupola top house--sinking fast. That double sugarloaf mountain peaklooms just to the west of us."
"Airplanes searched there last night," wirelessed young Hicks. "Must amissed you. Coming again, two of 'em!"
But it wasn't an airplane that resc
ued them after all. To get an injuredman out of a drifting house and aboard a ship of the air was beyondquestion. So Renaud stuck to his post till one of the rescue motor boatscould thread the flood litter and circle in near enough to get a hawserto the derelict. Supporting the half-conscious Bartlot onlife-preservers that had been flung to him, Lee kept his burden afloattill both could be drawn aboard.
* * * * *
In that night, when Lee had been swept adrift, the Sargon Sound districthad seemed to progress a hundred years. Yesterday it had been a land onfoot or on mule-back, without telephone or telegraph. Today on a heightabove the flood, a city of tents had sprung up. Motor trucks, muddy tothe wheel top, showed how transportation had been accomplished. Suppliesin stacks, a long hospital tent, doctors, nurses, a flotilla ofseaplanes moored in the crescent-shaped harbor! A line of refugeesfiling into a field soup kitchen, and more refugees coming into safetyaboard a bluntnosed steamer that had been scouring the islands!
Radio had done it! Radio had brought the assistance of a whole state tothe relief of the flood sufferers down in this isolated district.
"Gosh!" Lee exclaimed as he stepped from the putt-putting little motorboat, "folks sure answered the call of that old Marconi 'brass pounder'in something like a--like a hurry!"
"Sho did!" Lem Hicks' voice was fervent. "And, boy, when you broughtradio down here, you done something!"