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U. S. SERVICE SERIES.

THE BOY WITH THE U. S. WEATHER MEN

BY FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER

With Seventy-two Illustrations from Photographs

BOSTON

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

The Funnel of Death.

Photograph of a tornado in Kansas, taken less than a minute before it struck the point where the camera had stood.

(This is one of the best tornado photographs in the world and has not been retouched.)

Courtesy of Geo. S. Bliss, U.S. Weather Bureau, Philadelphia, Pa.

Published, September, 1917

Copyright, 1917 By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.

All rights reserved

The Boy with the U. S. Weather Men

Norwood Press

BERWICK & SMITH CO

NORWOOD, MASS.

U. S. A.

PREFACE

The savage fury of the tempest and the burning splendor of the sun in all ages have stirred the human race to fear and wonder. All the great stories and legends of the world began as weather stories. The lightnings were the thunderbolts of Jove, the thunder was the rolling of celestial chariot-wheels, and the rains of spring were a goddess weeping for her daughter, Nature, held a captive in the icy prison of Winter.

We know a great deal more about the forces of the Weather than the ancients did, yet we know but little still. The hurricane does not come unheralded to our shores, the freezing grip of a cold wave is forecast in time to enable us to fight it, the lightning is tamed by the metal finger we thrust upward to the sky. But the tornado sweeps its funnel of death over our cities in spite of all we do, the cloudburst falls where it will, and rivers rush to flood with the melting of the snows upon the distant mountains.

There is no battle greater than the battle with the Weather, which is both our enemy and our ally. Death and disaster are the price we pay for ignorance. Great victories have been won by knowledge. Galveston's sea-wall dared and defeated the hurricane, the levees of the Mississippi have held captive many a flood, and our myriad spears of defence have snatched at the power of the lightning flash and hurled it harmlessly to the ground.

We are not slaves to the demons of the Weather, now—not as we once were. The United States Weather Bureau, day by day, draws closer and closer the chains which bind the untrammeled violence of sun and storm. High, high in the atmosphere, is a world all unexplored, where no man can dwell; where, as yet, no human-made instrument has reached. This unknown world calls for explorers, it calls for adventure, it calls for daring and patient work. It is for Man to tame the forces of the sky, and tame them he must and will. To show how much the Weather Bureau is accomplishing, to depict the marvels of its work, to portray the ruthless ferocity of the forces as yet uncontrolled and to reveal the gripping fascination of this work, in which every American boy may join, is the aim and purpose of

The Author.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE BOY WITH THE U. S. WEATHER MEN

CHAPTER I

ADRIFT ON THE FLOODED RIVER

"What is it, Rex, old boy? What are you after? Somebody else in trouble, eh?"

Ross looked down through the pouring rain at his Airedale, who was pulling at his trouser leg with sharp, determined jerks. The dog looked far more like a seal than a terrier, his hair dripping water at every point, while a cascade streamed from his tail. The boy was every whit as wet. Here and there, through the slanting lines of rain, could be seen the smoky gleams of camp-fires, around which, shivering, gathered the hundreds of people who had been rendered homeless by the flooded Mississippi.

The lad turned to his father, who was bandaging a child's wrist, which had been broken during the work of rescue.

"It looks as if I ought to go, Father," he suggested, "that's if you don't mind. By the way Rex is going on, there's something up, for sure."

"Go ahead, then, son," his father agreed, "the dog's got sense enough for a dozen. Watch out for yourself, though, and don't get foolhardy," he added warningly, as the lad disappeared in the darkness; "you've got to be right careful when the Mississippi's in flood."

"I'll watch out," Ross answered reassuringly, as he started off with the dog, and, a moment later, the glow of the camp-fire was blotted out in the falling rain.

"This is your hike, Rex," announced the lad; "you lead and I'll follow."

The Airedale cocked up one ear on hearing his young master's voice, then, putting his head knowingly on one side, as if he understood every word that had been said, he trotted to the front and splashed through the pools of mud and water, his stump of a tail wagging with evident satisfaction.

Ross was used to all kinds of weather, but a downpour such as this he had never seen before. The rain fell steadily and relentlessly, with never a pause between. The night was too dark to see clearly, as the sheets of water were swept before the wind, but their force was terrific. Several times the boy had to turn his back to the driving storm and gasp, in order to get his breath.

"Where are you going, old boy?" again queried Ross.

The terrier paused, shook himself so that the drops flew in all directions, looked up in his master's face, gave a short sharp bark and trotted on.

Ross leaned down, patted the dog, and followed. By some instinct of his own, the terrier was keeping to a submerged road, though how he managed to remain on it was beyond the lad's comprehension, for the night was as dark as a wolf's throat and the path was under water half the time.

Suddenly the dog stopped and looked back as though for guidance. Before them was a swirl of water. In the darkness it was impossible to say how deep the wash-out might be, or how wide. Ross hesitated. His father had warned him against foolhardiness, and here he was facing the crossing of a swift current of unknown depth on a pitch-black night. Should he venture?

Rex barked, a short excited "yap" of urgency.

"I'll go as far as I can wade, anyhow," said Ross in response; "maybe it isn't so deep after all. I'm not particularly anxious to have to swim."

The terrier watched his master, and as soon as the boy started to cross the wash-out in the road-bed, the dog plunged in. The current swept him down rapidly, but Rex was a powerful swimmer and the lad had little fear for him. It took all his own strength to keep him from being swept off his feet, but the break in the road was not more than six yards across, and the boy was soon safe on the other side. He whistled shrilly and a moment or two later, Rex came bounding up and jumped on his master with clumsy delight. Then, with another cock of his head, as though to make sure of himself, he took up his position in front of the lad and trotted ahead.

How it rained! The water had gone down Ross's neck and inside his shoes, so that they sloshed and gurgled with each step. Little rills of water trickled coldly down his back and legs. The wind was dropping, so that the rain drove less in slanting sheets, but it seemed to pelt down all the more heavily for that. Even in the darkness, Ross could see the plops, where the drops fell, standing up from the surface of the flooded water like so many spiny warts. It was lonely, even with Rex for company, so dark and so wet was the night, and Ross was glad when the glow of a fire in the distance told him that he was approaching an encampment, probably, he thought, that of another group of settlers who had been driven from their flooded houses and were shivering, homeless, in the night.

When he arrived near enough to take in a full view of the scene, however, he found it very different from what he expected. True, there was a large camp-fire burning, such as the one he had left, and around it were gathered a number of women and children, cold, hungry and wet. A rough, lean-to tent, made of a sheet of tarpaulin, had been stretched in order to try to keep off the worst of the downpour, but no shelter availed.

A few steps farther, on the river bank, was a scene of excitement and commotion. A large gasoline torch flared into the night, defying the efforts of the storm to extinguish it, and by the light of this torch, scores of men were working busily, almost crazily, repairing a cave-in that threatened every moment to make a new break in the levee.

"Who's that? Another man?" rang out a clear, strong voice, as Ross came near. "Good! We need men badly, right now."

"It's me, Mr. Levin," answered the boy promptly, as he recognized the voice, and hurried into the circle of light, "it's me, Ross Planford."

"Howdy, Ross," came the greeting in reply, "all your folks safe?"

"Yes, sir," the boy answered. "It was a narrow shave, though. Rex got us out just in time."

"Good dog, that," was the terse comment. "I always did like Airedales. Well, Ross, it's time you got busy. Bring me a pile of empty bags from Dave's sugar-mill, there."

"Yes, sir," answered the lad, and darted off towards the factory.

Rex followed at his heels, and when, staggering back with his load, Ross dropped one of the empty bags, the terrier picked it up and came trotting after, carrying it in his teeth.

"I dropped one, Mr. Levin," said the boy, "I'll go right back for it."

"You don't need to," replied the Weather Forecaster, "your pup retrieved it for you. See?" and he held up the missing bag.

The engineer in charge of this section of the Mississippi, whose duty it was to guard the artificial banks or "levees" of the river, was working on the main break in the levee, with a huge gang of men. In this crisis, one of the planters, who formerly had been the local Weather Bureau official, had offered to take charge of the new threatened source of danger.

At his request, Ross busied himself for some time in bringing empty bags, which were then filled up with sand and dumped into the cave-in. Being in bags, the washing action of the water could not carry away the sand, and the gradually crumbling bank again was made firm. After a while, however, Ross again felt the dog tugging at his trouser leg and he realized that the mission on which he had started had been forgotten in the excitement of mending the crack in the levee.

"That's right, I was forgetting," said Ross aloud, and he appealed to his friend the Forecaster.

"Mr. Levin," he said, "can you spare me for a bit? I left Father's camp because we thought there was something wrong. Rex kept on tugging at my leg, as though he wanted to lead me somewhere. He's worrying again, now. Do you mind if I go ahead and see?"

"Not a bit," was the hearty answer, "a dog doesn't generally go on like that without some reason of his own. I'll send one of the roustabouts with you, if you like?"

"No, thanks, sir," the lad answered, "if I really need help I'll come back and ask for it. Right now, I just want to find out what it is that's bothering Rex."

"Off with you, then," said the other, kindly, "but go easy. Oh, and Ross!" he added, "if you're going down stream, just keep your eye on the levee, won't you? If you see any signs of trouble, get back on the double-quick. Don't try any of that story-book business about sitting down with your back to a hole in the bank. That sort of thing may be all very well in Holland but it wouldn't work with the Mississippi."

Ross grinned, remembering the story.

"All right, Mr. Levin," he answered, "if I see anything that looks like trouble, I'll come right back and report."

For a short distance down the river, Rex led the boy along the levee, then he branched away from the river bank towards a large stretch of low-lying land. This was familiar territory to Ross, for one of his best chums, a little crippled lad, lived in a house in the hollow.

"I hope Anton got out all right!" suddenly exclaimed Ross, half aloud, as the thought swept over him of the plight in which his chum might have been.

This fear became more poignant when, as Rex reached the path that led up to Anton's house, he turned up it, half trotting and half splashing his way through. Ross followed him closely, breaking into a run himself, as the dog galloped ahead.

There was a slight rise of the ground, near the wood below which lay the house, and from this shallow ridge the rain ran off in muddy gullies that were miniature torrents. This ridge reached, Ross looked down over the hollow toward the house. The entire plantation was a sheet of water, and, in the middle, still stood the house, the water half-way up its first story.

Rex set his forelegs firmly on the ground and barked fiercely, with loud, explosive barks that rang through the storm like the successive discharges from a small cannon.

Then, out of the rain, faintly through the distance, a shout was heard. It sounded like a boy's voice.

"It's Anton!" cried Ross. "He's been left behind! And that house is apt to go to pieces any minute!"

The first thought that sped across his mind, as he peered through the darkness to the dim outlines of the white house, was to hurry back to the Forecaster for help. Even as this thought came to him, however, Ross realized that such action might be of little use. Already the waters of the flood, swirling around the house, undermined it every moment, and it would take a long time to portage a boat all the way from the levee to the hollow, now in the wild sweep of the torrent.

Then Ross remembered that, a couple of years before, when a wet summer had caused a considerable quantity of water to gather in the hollow, forming a small lake, Anton and he, together with the rest of the boys, had built a rough boat. They had played the whole story of "Treasure Island" in this craft, Anton, with his crutch, taking the part of Long John Silver. The boat was a rough affair, as he remembered it, something like an ancient coracle, but it had been water-tight, at least. Perhaps it would be sea-worthy, still. At least, it was worth a trial.

Turning his back on the building that was islanded by the flood, Ross raced as fast as he could to the little block-house on the ridge that the boys had built two years before, near which he hoped to find the boat. Twice he stumbled over a root in the darkness and fell headlong into the mud and water. Still, as he could not be any wetter than he was already and as he did not hurt himself, a few falls were no great matter.

On the ridge, fast to the block-house, to which level the water had not yet reached, Ross found the boat. Moreover, to his great delight, he saw that Anton had been patching it up, so that it was now more serviceable than ever.

It was a different matter, punting this home-made boat around the waters of a pond on a calm summer's day, and striking out with it in a blinding storm across the flooding lowlands of the Mississippi River. Again his father's warning not to be foolhardy, came to Ross's remembrance, and, together with it, the Weather Bureau man's caution. None the less, the boy knew well that his father would never bid him hold back from a piece of work that was dangerous or difficult when life was at stake.

The boat was half full of water from the pouring rain. Ross bailed it out with a cocoanut-shell to which a handle had been affixed, evidently a home-made bailer of Anton's manufacture, and, as soon as it was clear of water, dragged it to the border of the current and launched it. The craft floated crankily, it was true, but it floated, and, so far as the boy could tell, it seemed fairly water-tight.

Jumping out again, Ross swung himself into the water and shoved the boat along beside him. He saw the value of wading as far as possible, for he knew that, as long as his feet were on the bottom, he could govern his direction. To what extent he might be able to stem the current by the use of oars in a boat of that character, he did not know.

Rex, however, was convinced that the boat had been secured expressly for him, and, as soon as Ross came near enough to the shore, the dog bounded through the shallow water in long leaps, swimming the last few feet, and put his paws on the gunwale. Ross picked up the terrier and heaved him into the boat. Rex gave a snort of satisfaction, shook himself so that he sent a trundling spray of water clear in his master's face and then took his post in the bow of the boat and set himself to barking with all his might and main. It seemed almost as though he really knew that he was at the head of a rescue expedition and wanted to convey the information. When at last Rex ceased barking, which was not for some minutes, Ross gave a shout.

Instantly, at one of the upper windows, something white appeared. In the darkness the boy could not tell what it might be, but he guessed, and rightly, that it was Anton's shirt, and he heard again, though faintly, the answering call across the river.

"Keep up your nerve, Anton," he yelled, through the storm, "I'll be over there in a minute."

Faintly, again, came the answering cry,

"Hello, Ross! Is that you? I wondered who it was that was coming."

The slow progress made by shoving the boat along, however, was not at all to Rex's liking. He turned and looked at his master doubtfully, then barked again. To his disgust, in turn, the boy found that the slope of the hollow curved away from the house a great deal. He was tempted, time after time, to jump into the boat and pull straight across, but he knew that if the force of the current drifted him below the house, he could never hope to go upstream against it. His only chance was to make sure that he could reach the middle of the torrent above the house and drift right down upon it. A few yards' extra leeway would enable him to steer his cranky craft to the desired spot. So, though it seemed to him as if he were going away from Anton, and though, indeed, he was now so far away that the crippled boy's shouts no longer could be heard, Ross stuck to his intentions, and, still wading, pushed the little craft up-stream.

Rex protested vigorously. He ran back from the bow and looked into Ross's face with a reproachful and almost angry bark, as much as to say:

"You silly! Can't you tell what I brought you here for?"

The boy knew better than the dog.

"Lie down!" he ordered sharply.

Rex, understanding in a doggish way that he was in the wrong somewhere, went back to his post in the bow, where he stood dejectedly, his tail no longer at the jaunty angle than it had been before.

At last Ross felt that he had reached a point high enough up the flooded bank to justify him in the attempt to get across. He jumped into the home-made skiff, and, setting his strength to the clumsy oars, began to pull with all his might.

Futen, God of the Winds.

Japanese conception of the origin of storms, which come from the bag on the demon's back.

He had not over-estimated the force of the current. As the light craft got into the swirl, the black water caught it like a feather. Ross pulled with all his might, but the banks slipped by as though he were in tow of one of the river steamboats. Never had the boy tugged at a pair of oars as he did now, and never had he so wished for a good boat and for real oars. He was only two-thirds of the distance across to the house when it came into sight, only a little distance below him.

He would not reach it!

With the energy of despair, Ross tugged on his oars, every muscle of his body tense with the strain.

Rex, divining the struggle, stood silent, not looking forward over the bow as he had been doing, but watching his master as he toiled with his oars.

Then, out from the darkness, shot the long black menace of a floating tree trunk. Straight for the boat it sped.

From the window, now close at hand, came a cry:

"Look out, Ross! Look out!"

Ross saw the danger. He knew, if he backed water, or halted long enough to let the tree go by, he would infallibly be swept past the house and all hope of rescuing Anton would be gone. He saw, too, that if the tree struck the frail boat, it would sink it as a battleship's ram sinks a fishing-boat in a fog at sea. He might win through, but if it struck—

The oars creaked with the sudden strain thrown on them.

On came the tree, but, just as it was about to strike the boat, it checked and turned half over, as the projecting stump of a broken bough caught on the ground below. For an instant, only, the tree halted and began to swing.

The halt gave a moment's respite, one more chance for an extra pull with the oars. The big log, thus poised, made a backwater eddy on the surface of the river, checking the force of the current. Ross reached back for another stroke, with every ounce of his muscle behind it.

The tree turned over sullenly and charged down the river anew. Yet that brief pause, that second of delay, that back-water ripple as the log hung in suspension, had given Ross just the advantage that was needed. The branches of the upper part of the tree swept round, one of them catching the stern of the boat and almost pulling it under. Peril had been near, but victory was nearer. The bow of the boat touched the wall of the house.

The current, swirling around the rocking walls, carried the boat to the lee of the house, and, as it spun round, Ross leaped on to the porch, chest-deep in water, and took a quick turn with the boat's painter around the corner post of the porch.

The torrent took his feet from under him, and swept him down-stream, floating, but Ross held a firm grip on the rope and dragged himself back. There, clasping the post tightly, he got back his breath. After a moment's groping he found the railing of the porch. By standing on this and holding fast to the corner post, he was, for the moment, out of danger.

He had reached the house, but how was Anton to be rescued?

The crippled boy was on the second story and the upper window could not be reached from the boat, even if the boat could have been held in place directly under it. Fortunately, Ross knew the arrangements of his chum's house as well as he did those of his own. Stepping gingerly along the porch railing, he came close to the window of the sitting room. The glass was still in the window frame, but as the front door was swinging wide open, though partly choked with débris, Ross knew that the sitting room must be full of water. He kicked the glass out and then, with a heavier kick, broke away the middle part of the window-sash. The water did not come quite to the top of the window frame, sure evidence that there was room for air between the water and the ceiling.

Taking a long breath, but with his heart knocking against his ribs, Ross dived through the broken window. It is one thing to be able to swim and dive, it is another to plunge through a splintered window-frame into a dark house in the middle of the night, with a flood roaring on all sides.

Was the door into the hall open? On that, success depended.

The boy turned sharply to the left as he came up to the surface and took breath. His hand struck the top of the door jamb. The door was open, but the casing was only three inches above the water. Ross dived again through the door, and, under water, turned to the right. One swimming stroke brought him to the staircase and he rushed up the few steps at the top to the room above.

There, by the light of a single candle, he saw Anton, his eager eyes shining out of his pale face. The crippled boy hobbled across the room on his crutch and grasped his chum tightly by the shoulder. He was trembling like an aspen-leaf in the wind.

"Scared, Anton?" said Ross. "I'm not surprised. You've a good right to be."

"I wasn't so scared," the younger lad replied, with the characteristic desire of a boy not to be thought cowardly, "I just got to wondering, that was all."

"Wondering if any one was going to come for you?"

"Yes."

"How did you get left behind, anyhow?" queried Ross.

"Oh, it was my own fault, all right," the crippled lad replied. "It was all because of the dog. You know, Ross, Lassie had pups, last Monday."

"No, I didn't know about it," responded the older boy. "Why didn't you tell a fellow?"

"I haven't seen you since," Anton explained. "Well, when the levee broke and the water commenced to come into the house, Dad and Uncle Jack went and got the two boats we always keep on the river. Dad picked me up and carried me down on to the porch. I heard him call to Uncle Jack:

"'You go ahead and get Clara; I've got Anton safe with me.'"

"Then you were with him, weren't you?" queried Ross.

"Sure I was. Just as I was getting into the boat, though, I thought of Lassie and her puppies and I went back to get them. I called to Dad and said:

"'I'm just going to fetch Lassie, Dad, and I'll go in Uncle Jack's boat.'

"So, Dad, he called to Uncle, saying that I was to go with him. His boat was pretty well crowded up, too. Back I went to get Lassie. As soon as I'd picked up the pups, Lassie was willing enough to come along. The water was running over the floor and made it slippery. My crutch slithered on the wet wood and I tumbled down. It was pretty dark, and I had a job finding the four puppies again. When I did gather 'em up and started for the porch again, Uncle Jack was gone."

"Without you?"

"He thought I was with Dad, and I suppose Dad was sure I was with Uncle Jack."

"They ought to have found out and come back after you as soon as they got together."

"I thought of that," the crippled lad answered, "and that's what I expected would happen. I suppose, though, they didn't land at the same place, and so each bunch thinks I'm with the other and isn't doing any worrying."

"It's a mighty awkward mix-up," declared Ross. "There's no saying what might have happened to you if Rex hadn't been on the job."

"Was it Rex who brought you here?"

"It sure was," Ross replied, and he described how the terrier had pulled him by the leg and insisted on his coming over to the house in the hollow.

"Where's Rex now," queried Anton, "down in our old boat?"

"Yes, he's down there, keeping watch, good old scout," answered Ross. "He ought to be satisfied now, he certainly made fuss enough to bring me here. But, look here, Anton, how are we going to get you out? You don't swim."

"No," answered his chum mournfully, "I can't swim."

"If there was room enough down that stair," said Ross, thoughtfully, "I could take you on my back, but we'd never get through that door, and the window would be even worse."

"I'd been thinking of that," Anton answered. "I wondered how Dad would get me when he found out that I wasn't with Uncle Jack and came for me. So I made a long rope out of strips of my sheets."

"What's the good of that?"

"Well," said the younger boy, "I was wondering if I couldn't get out of the window. My arms are awful strong, you know, Ross."

"Yes," the other agreed, "you've plenty of muscle there."

"I thought if I could drop that line out of the window, Dad could grab it and hold the boat there. Then I could chuck down Lassie and the pups in a basket—I've got the basket—and slide down the rope of sheets into the boat."

Ross thought for a minute.

"I don't see why we couldn't do that now," he said. "Suppose we tied a piece of wood to the end of this rope of sheets, so that it would float, the current would curl it around the corner of the house so that I could get hold of it from the boat. If your end of the line was made fast up here, I could hand over hand the boat right under your window, the way you say. Why, I could get you out without any trouble at all! Let's see how it goes."

Suiting the action to the word, Ross tied one end of the line of sheets around the hinge of the door, passed it through the window, and, to the other end, tied a spare crutch. Then he leaned out of the window and watched it. The current snatched the crutch down and, as Ross expected, swung it around the corner of the house.

"Fine," said the lad. "We can work that all right. I'll have you out of here in two shakes, Anton. Where are the pups?"

Anton pointed to the bed, on which a basket was lying.

"Aren't they dandies?" he said.

Ross took the candle over and picked up one of the pups. Lassie growled in a low voice.

"All right, Lassie," said Ross, "you ought to know me."

He bent down and patted her.

The dog smelt his hand and whacked her tail on the floor in token of recognition, but growled again, nevertheless.

"I won't hurt your pup," declared Ross, putting the blind little creature back in the basket.

"Nicely marked, Anton," he said, "they look great. But we've got to get busy."

He went to the head of the staircase and stared down.

"It doesn't look a bit nice," he declared, "I sort of hate to go through there again."

"Why do you?" queried Anton. "You could go down the line and reach the boat that way."

"That's an idea," declared Ross thoughtfully, then he shook his head. "No," he said, "my weight would swing the crutch out clear away from the house. I'd better go down the way I came up. I can always get back, anyway."

He ran down the staircase until the water reached to his chest and then struck out. The water had risen slightly, but he got through the door without any trouble. Passing through the window he was not so lucky, for a projecting splinter of glass scraped him as he dived through, making a long but shallow cut in the upper part of his arm.

Rex welcomed him back with short joyful barks.

"I'm not a bit sure," said Ross as he patted the dog, "whether it was Anton or the pups that you wanted me to rescue, eh? Which was it?"

For answer Rex only wagged his tail and jumped up on his young master.

"Down, Rex, down," ordered Ross, "this boat's too cranky for that sort of thing. Now, where's that crutch?"

In the darkness and the pouring rain it was hard to distinguish anything, but the white gleam of the sheets showed where the crutch was floating.

"Out of reach," muttered Ross in disgust. "Just my luck! How am I going to get it?"

It was a problem. The crutch was floating on the current above twelve feet beyond the reach of the boat's painter, let out to its utmost length. By stretching out with one of the oars, Ross was about four feet short. Just four feet, but so far as success was concerned, it might as well have been four miles.

If he jumped from the boat and swam for it, there was always a chance that the current would pluck him down before he could grasp the line, and then he would not only be in danger himself, but he would have lost all chance of saving his crippled friend. As long as he stayed either with the boat or with the house, there was a chance. It would be foolhardy to lose connection with both.

Then a brilliant idea struck him. Suppose he tied the painter of the boat under his arms, loosed the boat from the post and jumped into the water. He ought to reach the floating line before the current had taken up the slack of the boat's painter. If he left loose a long enough end, with a loop knot, he could fasten the rope from the boat to the line of sheets, and the boat would be made fast. The loop knot would unfasten itself and he could easily clamber into the boat, from the stern, since it was fastened to the line coming out from Anton's window. Then he could haul up the boat, hand over hand, as agreed upon, take Anton and the puppies aboard and strike out straight for the shore.

No sooner was the idea conceived than Ross proceeded to put it into action. Slipping the line around his arms, once, he tied a loop knot in front of his chest, where it would be easy to reach, leaving about three feet of rope hanging, untied the painter and shoved off the boat. The instant that the boat felt the current it yawed around, but, at the same moment, Ross jumped out and forward with all his might. The action sent the boat down-stream all the quicker, but in a second's time, Ross had grasped the floating crutch and had taken a turn with the loose end of the rope around it.

He was not an instant too soon, for a sharp tug at his chest, followed by a sudden release of the weight, told him that the loop knot had untied itself, as he hoped it would. Holding on to the sheet line with one hand, he rapidly passed the rope once under and through. Ross had not learned his knots from the Mississippi sailors for nothing, and as the boat came to the end of its tether and jerked on the line, the boy had the satisfaction of seeing the knot tighten. With the strain off, it was easy to take another half-hitch around the line, and the knot was secure beyond peradventure. He climbed aboard, raised a cheery cry to Anton, and commenced to pull the boat hand over hand along the line of sheets. It was only a moment before the little craft was bobbing on the flood, immediately beneath the window.

"Let's have the puppies first," cried Ross.

Anton's head disappeared from the window, and reappeared in a moment.

"Catch!" he cried and held out the basket.

Ross balanced himself as best he could and caught the falling basket. It was not more than a five feet drop and the basket landed squarely in his arms. He placed it in the boat. Loud barking overhead announced that Lassie was displeased and worried over the sudden departure of her offspring.

"How am I going to get Lassie out?" queried Anton. "I'd never thought of that. She'll strangle if I let her down by the collar."

"That's easy," Ross called back. "Tie a bit of string to her collar, chuck me the end of the string, and then throw her into the water. It won't hurt her, and I can easily haul her aboard."

"All right, then," the other answered, "get the boat out of the way."

"Chuck me down the end of the string first," warned Ross, and, as he spoke, a ball of stout twine fell in the boat. "Out with her now," he continued, slackening away on the line, so that the boat was no longer directly out of the window.

There was a moment's pause and then the big dog appeared in the opening, struggling in Anton's strong, if clumsy, grasp. She clawed at the window-sill, not understanding what was happening, but Anton gave her a push, and half turning as she fell, Lassie struck the water all of a heap. The instant she was afloat, however, her natural swimming instincts asserted themselves and she started for the shore.

"Here, Lassie!" called Ross, with a whistle, and pulled gently on the string that was fastened to her collar. The dog felt the pull and turned around, swimming directly for the boat. Ross stooped down and lifted her in. The mother immediately smelt the puppies and scrambled along the bottom of the boat to the basket. She smelt her children, nosed them over, one by one, then, satisfied that everything was all right, muzzled against Rex, and lay down contentedly.

This feat accomplished, Ross pulled the boat under the window again.

"Now, Anton," he called, "it's your turn."

"All right," the younger lad replied, "I'm coming."

Ross heard him drag a chair to the window, to make it easier for him to clamber out.

Just at that instant, there came a cracking from the front of the house, the corner-post of the porch, to which the boat had been fastened less than five minutes before, fell with a crash and the front of the house crumbled. There was a moment's pause, and then the whole structure keeled over, away from the boat, and with a rending and cracking of timbers, broke from its foundation. Over and over it heeled, and it looked as though it would go to pieces. From the window overhead came a scream of terror.

Realizing that Anton could never save himself, if the house were collapsing, Ross leaped for the rope of linen that was hanging out of the window and went up it like a monkey.

The chair on which Anton had climbed, to get out of the window, had slid to the far end of the room and fallen on the sloping floor, the lower edge of which was now in the water, and the crippled lad was pinned down and unable to get out. The candle had been thrown down on the table and fire was beginning to lick some paper that had not slipped to the floor.

Ross dashed in, grabbed Anton by the arm, picked him up with the "firemen's carry" and staggered up the sloping floor to the window.

Had the boat suffered in the careening of the house?

The line, made of linen sheets, still was taut, and Ross, peering out of the window, saw to his great delight that the boat was still there with all its passengers safe, Rex, Lassie, and the puppies.

There, Before the Flood, Stood Anton's House.

Overflowed lands in the Mississippi Valley, where scores of lives are lost when the rising waters break down a levee.

Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau.

A lurch almost threw Ross upon his face and the whole house swayed as though with a violent earthquake. The next instant, a sense of motion beneath them told the boys that the house was afloat.

"The house has gone, the house has gone! What are we going to do?" cried the crippled boy.

"That's all right, Anton," the older lad said consolingly, "things aren't so bad. See, it's beginning to get daylight."

"But," said the younger boy, "the house is floating down to Pirate's Cave, that gully where the big rocks are. If we run up against those, the house'll be smashed to bits, sure."

Ross thought for a moment and saw that his chum was right.

"Guess we'll have to take to the boat after all, Anton," he said, "it's a good thing the house got on a level keel again, when she came afloat."

Action was needed and that immediately. Ross climbed half-way through the window.

"I've got to get that boat up here in a hurry," he said, "the current's swift enough, when you're in that small boat, but this house doesn't float down so fast. It's a mile, anyway, to the gully."

So saying, he swung himself out of the window, went down the linen rope and dropped into the water. Hand over hand, again, up the rope came the boat until once more it was under the window. Meanwhile, by heroic exertions, Anton had swung himself up on the window-sill. As the boat came beneath him, the crippled lad swung out on the rope and proceeded to climb down into the boat.

He was not a moment too soon. While Ross had been bringing the boat to place, the speed of the current had increased and the house, like a clumsy Noah's Ark, began to sweep swiftly towards the gully of which Anton had spoken.

"Quick, Anton," said Ross, as the smaller lad hesitated, "we've got to be quick."

He cut the boat loose.

In spite of his blunt words, it was with the greatest gentleness that Ross handed the lad to a seat in the rough craft where they had played pirates during the preceding summer, and settled down to his oars.

Lassie, finding her master safe in the boat, came and laid her head on his knee, while the shore went slipping by. Here and there a barn still stood, the tops of the trees showed above the flood, but all the ground was hidden and the torrent was running like a mill-race. Little by little, Ross edged the boat towards the shore, not trying to stem the current but rowing diagonally across it. Only a few hundred yards separated the house from the gorge which the boys knew as Pirates Cave. By this time the boat had reached the higher portion of the hollow, where the current slackened. A few strong strokes of the oars and the boat grounded, safely.

At that instant the slight lightening of the rain-filled skies showed that, behind the clouds, the sun had risen. The boys turned to look at the house which had been Anton's refuge, and which so nearly had been his tomb. As they looked, the structure struck against the uppermost of the rocks with a crash and collapsed as though made of matchwood, while, a second after, into the medley of boards and timbers some uprooted trees came crashing.

"You wouldn't have stood much chance there, Anton," said Ross.

The crippled lad put his hand on the older boy's shoulder, with as close an approach to a gesture of affection as boy nature would permit.

"I guess I'd have been a goner," he answered, "but for you."

CHAPTER II

THE HOME OF THE RAIN

The gray morning broke over the desolate scene, and Anton, hollow-eyed and exhausted, looked at the muddy waters rushing savagely over the place where his home had stood. By the tops of the trees, only, was he able to trace the outline of the fields he had known all his boyhood.

"Do you suppose it'll ever dry up, Ross?" he asked.

"Of course it will, Anton," the older lad said, reassuringly, "you'll see. In a week or two all this water'll run off and you'll forget that the old place ever looked like this."

The crippled lad shook his head, as though in doubt.

"My books have gone," he said mournfully.

The tones were quiet, but a tragedy lay beneath the words, and no one knew better than Ross how largely his chum's life lay in the world revealed in his tiny library. The flood would pass away and the fertility of summer would hide every trace of the disaster, but for Anton's loss there was no such swift remedy. His books were his closest friends, and now, at one stroke, he was bereft of all of them.

"Come," said Ross, to change the current of his chum's thoughts, "we'll have to make a start. Where do you suppose your folks are?"

The younger lad turned to his friend with the quick responsiveness and willing resignation often found among those who have suffered a great deal or who are handicapped in Life's race.

"I haven't the least idea," he said, "they might have gone over to the other shore."

"Yes," agreed Ross, thoughtfully, "that's likely. They'd certainly have more chance of finding help and grub over there. And, talking of grub, Anton, aren't you hungry?"

"Starving," admitted the younger lad.

"Then I tell you what, we'd better go and hunt up Levin."

"The chap who used to be with the Weather Bureau, you mean?" Anton asked.

"Yes."

"Don't you think that I ought to try to find Father first?" queried the younger lad, hesitatingly. "He might be worrying."

"It's because of your folks that I think we ought to go first to the camp," explained Ross. "We couldn't possibly row right across the flood to the other shore. We've had trouble enough getting as far as this. Besides, Anton, even if we did get over, we wouldn't know where to look for your people. There's a chance that Levin may have heard from them, and if he hasn't, he might send some one with a message. We couldn't do much searching, anyway."

In truth, the boys were utterly exhausted. The only member of the party who seemed in high spirits was Rex. He frisked about and jumped on the two boys, his tail sticking straight up in the air, as though he were convinced that it was solely through his exertions that Lassie and the puppies had been rescued.

Ross slung the basket, with its living freight, across his shoulders and started off. Lassie watched this elevation of her children with manifest uneasiness, but as her master seemed satisfied, there was nothing for her to do but to follow behind, which she did with her nose as close to the basket as possible.

Nerve-frazzled and tired out, Anton pegged away behind. The heavy downpour of rain, which had not ceased for a day and a night, and which had followed upon the heavy rains of the week before, had made the ground as soft as a bog. The crippled lad's crutch sank in so deeply at every step that it was only with great pain that he could keep up at all. Still, he struggled along bravely.

Ross, turning to see how his chum was faring, caught the boy's tense and haggard look, and understood.

"Look here, Anton," he said, at once, "we'll never get anywhere this way. You get into the boat and I'll tow you."

"But you can't, you're just about all in," protested the younger boy. "You can't tow the boat with me in it, all the way."

"Got to!" declared Ross abruptly. "It's a sure thing that you're not able to walk there with the ground in this sodden condition. Anyway, I won't have to carry the puppies."

Thankful but still protesting, Anton got into the boat and the journey began anew.

It was a weary way. Ross staggered forward, half-blind with sleep, wading knee-deep, sometimes waist-deep, in the water. The rain had stopped, but the sky was heavy and the clouds hung low. Twice Anton had to jerk on the tow-rope to jolt Ross awake, for, unnoticing, he was heading for deep water. Even near the shore the torrent was full of floating debris. The bodies of horses and cattle drifting down the stream told of many impoverished farms and the flotsam was eloquent of wrecked and demolished houses and indicative of suffering.

The Edge of a Tornado's Whirl.

Note the house in the background unharmed, and the house next to it spun around like a top.

Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau.

When, after an hour's toil, rescuer and rescued reached the drier land that sloped up to the levee, it was hard to tell which was the more exhausted. To the last, however, Ross refused to let his chum bear the burden of the puppies, and he lurched up the road to the place where he had left the gang at work on the cave-in, not so many hours before. It seemed weeks ago.

The Weather Man was still at work. He had been up all night, also, but he greeted the lad cheerily as he came in sight.

"Hello, Boss!" he called, then, as the boy's exhausted state became more evident, "what have you been doing? Has anything happened?"

"Anton was marooned," answered Ross in the dull, listless voice of extreme fatigue.

"Marooned? You mean he was caught by the flood?"

As though in answer, Anton, toiling heavily and wearily on his crutch, came in sight.

"Yes," said Ross, in the same tone, "he was left behind."

"How was that?" the Weather Man asked sharply.

"It wasn't anybody's fault, Mr. Levin," replied Anton, who had heard the last two sentences as he came up, "Father thought I'd gone with Uncle Jack, and Uncle Jack thought I'd gone with Father."

"You're not hurt?"

"No, sir," the crippled lad answered, "not a bit. Ross is, though. He cut his arm diving through the window."

The Forecaster turned swiftly to the older boy and began examining the injury.

"Is the house still standing?" he asked.

"No, sir," the boy answered, "it's all in bits down by Jackson's Gully."

The weather expert nodded. He knew the lay of the land and had expected the water from the flooded hollow to pour down towards the entrance to the gully.

"How did you get out, then?" he asked.

Anton burst into a glowing account of his rescue in the little boat which the boys had made for their pirate adventures of two years before. Even the excitement of the story, however, was not strong enough to keep his overtaxed frame from showing signs of a breakdown and the Weather Man cut the story short.

"I'm going to breakfast later," he said curtly, "but not for a couple of hours. You two had better take a rest now. Here, Sam," he called to one of the negroes, "bring me a bucket of coffee from your camp-kettle, and fetch some corn-pone. Quick now, these boys are famished."

"Yas, suh! Yas, suh!" came the reply, and, a moment later, a bucket of coffee and some corn-bread and molasses were brought.

Despite their hunger, neither Ross nor Anton could eat more than a few mouthfuls, and the hot drink was the last straw to their sleepiness. Ross fell asleep with an unfinished piece of corn-pone in his hand, and Anton's head was nodding.

"Ain' no more weight than a babby, Mister Levin," said the laborer, as he picked up the little crippled lad and carried him to a tiny open shed near by, which was the only dry spot to be found in the neighborhood.

Very tenderly he laid the boy down on a pile of clothes that had been salvaged while the Forecaster put his overcoat over Ross and laid him beside his chum.

"There," said the Weather Man, "let them sleep a while. They'll be ready for a real breakfast in a couple of hours."

Though hungry himself, the Forecaster waited for three hours before awakening the lads. Anton, by nature a light sleeper, awoke easily and was refreshed, but the awakening of Ross was a real task. He had been on a severe strain for twenty-seven hours and Nature demanded sleep. At last, however, he was roused and after he had plunged his head in a pail of cold water, he felt as full of ginger as ever and ready to start on rescue work all over again.

"I'm just going to breakfast," the Forecaster announced. "Do you want to go along?"

"Do I? I should say I did! But I'm afraid, sir, that Anton and I will eat up everything in sight."

"You don't need to worry about that," the Forecaster replied, "my men have been hauling supplies all night. Why, Ross, there are over two thousand people homeless this morning, right around this district. They've all got to eat breakfast, too, so you see even your best efforts won't seriously decrease the supply."

"I'm not so sure about that, sir," Ross said laughing, "right now I feel as though I could eat all you've gathered for the entire two thousand."

"Come and try, then," the Weather Man said, smiling. Then, turning to Anton, he continued, "Likely enough, some of your people will be at the big tent that's been put up. If they're not there, I'll send out a couple of the boys on horseback to cover both sides of the flooded area and pass the word that you're safe." He turned to the older boy. "I've already sent word to your father, Ross."

The boys thanked him and started down the levee. Owing to the continuous work of the night, the cave-in had gradually been filled up, averting a break at this point. The river, turbid and swollen, was swirling by, not more than three feet below the top of the levee.

"Is the water going down yet, Mr. Levin?" asked Ross. "It looks as though the rain were over."

"Yes," answered the Forecaster, "the rain is over, but the water's not going down yet. It's rising. I'm fairly sure that there won't be any more rain for a few days, fortunately, but I heard from Greenville this morning that the river was still rising. We can stand another nine or ten inches, but a foot would be serious. Of course, the break that flooded out Jackson's Hollow, where your place was, Anton, is relieving the pressure a little. We've been lucky here. I haven't heard of any loss of life so far. It's a nasty flood, but when the rainfall last week was reported as being so heavy, I knew we couldn't escape trouble."

"Is it just the rain that makes floods?" Anton asked.

"Just rain," was the laconic answer.

"Why is it," asked the younger boy, "that there's more rain one year than another?"

"If I could tell you that," the old Weather Forecaster replied, "I'd be the cleverest meteorologist in the world."

"But doesn't anybody know why it rains?"