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<h2 id="c9"> CHAPTER IX Rescue on Lake Dubar</h2> Helen stared hard at the place where her friend should have been. Had the magic of Miss Carver’s story been so strong that she was imagining things? She rubbed her eyes and looked again. There was no mistake. Margaret had disappeared! Helen’s cry caught the attention of the other members of the class and Miss Carver stopped her story. “What’s the matter, Helen?” the teacher asked. “Look,” cried Helen dazedly, pointing to the spot where Margaret had been sitting, “Margaret’s gone!” Miss Carver’s eyes widened and she gave a little shudder. Then she smiled to reassure Helen and the other members of the class. “Probably Margaret slipped away and is hiding just to add a thrill to my ghost story. I’ll call her.” <div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div> “Margaret, oh, Margaret!” The teacher’s voice rang through the night. She cupped her hands and called again when there was no response to her first one. Once more she called but still there was no answer from the massed maples behind them or the dark waters of the lake. “This is more than a joke,” muttered Ned Burns, the class president. “We’d better get out and have a look around.” He stepped toward the fire, threw on an armful of fresh, dry sticks, and the flames leaped higher, throwing their reflection further into the night. “We’ll take a look into the woods,” he told Miss Carver, “and you and the girls hunt along the lake shore. Margaret might have fallen and hurt herself.” Miss Carver agreed and the girls gathered around her. There was a queer tightness in Helen’s throat and a tugging at her heart that unnerved her—a vague, pressing fear that something was decidedly wrong with Margaret. The boys disappeared into the shadows of the timber and the girls turned toward the lake shore. They had just started their search when Miss Carver made an important discovery. “Girls,” she cried, “One of the rowboats we rented this afternoon is missing!” <div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div> Helen ran toward the spot, the other girls crowding around her. They could make out the marks of the boat’s keel in the sand and a girl’s footprints. “Those prints were made by Margaret’s shoes,” said Helen. “You can see the marks of the heel plates she has on her oxfords.” “We’ll call the boys,” said Miss Carver, and Helen thought she detected a real note of alarm in the teacher’s voice although Miss Carver was making every possible effort to appear calm. When the boys arrived, Miss Carver told them of their discovery and Ned Burns took charge of the situation. “We’ll get in the other rowboat,” he said, “and start looking for Margaret. In the meantime, someone must go up to Linder’s farmhouse and telephone town. Margaret’s father ought to know she’s out on the lake in the boat. Also call Jim Preston and if he hasn’t started down with the Liberty, have him come at once.” “I’ll go to the farm,” volunteered Helen. “O. K.,” nodded Ned as he selected two other boys to accompany him in the rowboat. They pushed off the sandy beach, dropped the oars in the locks, and splashed away into the night. “Don’t you want someone to go to the farmhouse with you?” Miss Carver asked Helen. <div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div> But Helen shook her head and ran up the beach. She didn’t want anyone with her; she wanted to be alone. The other girls didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation. She could understand what Margaret had done. Realizing that Miss Carver would tell them a first rate thriller of a ghost story, Margaret had decided to add an extra thrill by disappearing for a few minutes. But something had gone wrong and she hadn’t been able to get back. Helen paused and looked over the black, mysterious waters of Lake Dubar. What secret were they keeping from her? Thoughts of what might have happened to Margaret brought the queer, choky sobs again and she ran on toward Linder’s where the welcome glow of light showed through the windows of the farmhouse. Old Mr. Linder came to the door in answer to Helen’s quick, insistent knocks. “What’s the matter, young Lady?” he asked, peering at her through the mellow radiance of the kerosene lamp which he held in one hand. “I’m Helen Blair,” she explained, “and one of my classmates has disappeared from our picnic party down the beach. One of the boats we rented from you is missing and we’re sure Margaret is adrift on the lake and unable to get back. I’d like to use your telephone to let her father know and to call Jim Preston.” <div class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</div> “Why, certainly,” said Mr. Linder, “I don’t wonder at your hurry. Come right in and use the phone. Who did you say the girl was?” “Margaret Stevens,” Helen replied. “Must be Doctor Stevens’ daughter,” said the farmer. “She is,” Helen replied, as she reached the telephone in the hallway. While Helen was ringing for the operator at Rolfe, Mr. Linder stuck his head in the living room. “Mother,” he said, “Doctor Stevens’ daughter is adrift somewhere on the lake in one of our boats. I’m going down and see if I can help find her.” Mrs. Linder came into the hall and Helen heard her husband telling her what had happened. Then the Rolfe operator answered and Helen gave her the number of Doctor Stevens’ office. The doctor answered almost instantly and Helen, phrasing her sentences as tactfully as possible so as not to unduly alarm the doctor, told him what had happened. <div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div> “Sounds just like Margaret,” he snorted. “I’ll be right down. Now don’t worry too much, Helen,” he added. “I won’t, Doctor Stevens,” promised Helen with a shaky attempt at cheerfulness. Then she called Jim Preston’s home and learned that he had left fifteen minutes before and should be almost down to Linder’s. “We’ll go down to the landing and wait for Jim,” said Mr. Linder as he lighted a lantern he had brought from the kitchen. “Everything will come out all right,” Mrs. Linder assured Helen. The farmer led the way down to the landing. The wind was freshening rapidly and Helen saw Mr. Linder anxiously watching the white caps which were pounding against the sandy beach. Down the beach their picnic campfire was a red glow and Helen could see Miss Hughes and the girls huddled around it. The boys who had not accompanied Ned Burns were walking up and down along the shore. She turned and looked up the lake. Two lights, one red and one green, the markers of the Liberty, were coming down the lake. <div class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</div> “Jim Preston will be here in another minute,” said Mr. Linder, “and with the searchlight he’s got on the Liberty it won’t take us long to find Doctor Stevens’ daughter.” Helen nodded miserably as the Liberty slowed down and swung its nose toward the Linder pier. There was the grinding of the reverse gear as Jim Preston checked the speed of his boat and left it drift against the pier. “Don’t shut it off, Jim,” cried the farmer. “Doc Stevens’ daughter is adrift in the lake in one of my rowboats. We’ve got to go out and look for her.” They climbed into the boat and Jim Preston backed the Liberty away from the pier. “How did it happen?” he asked Helen. She told him briefly and he shook his head, as though to say, “too bad, it’s getting to be a nasty night on the lake.” The boatman opened the throttle, the motor roared its response and the Liberty leaped ahead and down the lake. They ran parallel to the shore until they were opposite the picnic ground. There Jim Preston slowed down, got the direction of the wind, and turned the nose of the Liberty toward the open and now wind-tossed lake. He snapped on the switch and a crackling, blue beam of light cut a path ahead of the boat. <div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div> “Keep the searchlight moving,” he directed the farmer, who stood up in the Liberty, his hands on the handles of the big, nickel lamp. The boatman held the Liberty at about one third speed and they moved almost directly across the lake while Mr. Linder kept the searchlight swinging in an arc to cover the largest possible area. A third of the way across they sighted a boat far to their right and Jim Preston swung the nose of the Liberty around sharply and opened the throttle. They sliced through the white caps at a pace that drenched them with the flying spray but they were too intent on reaching the distant boat to stop and put up the spray boards. Helen’s keen eyes were the first to identify the boat. “It’s the boys,” she cried. “They’re beckoning us on.” Jim Preston checked the Liberty carefully and nosed alongside the tossing rowboat. “No sign of Margaret,” admitted Ned Burns, “and the lake’s getting too rough for us to stay out much longer. We’ve had half a dozen waves break over us now.” “Better get in with us,” advised Preston. <div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div> “Hand me the oars,” said Mr. Linder, “and we’ll let the rowboat drift. I’ll pick it up in the morning.” The boys tossed their oars into the Liberty and scrambled up into the motorboat. Jim Preston threw in the clutch and the Liberty leaped ahead to resume its search for Margaret. Helen’s lips were dry and fevered despite the steady showers of spray and her heart hammered madly. Lake Dubar had always had a nasty reputation for ugliness in a fresh, sharp wind but Helen had never before realized its true danger and what a lost and helpless feeling one could have on it at night, especially when a friend was missing. There was no conversation as the Liberty continued across the choppy expanse of the lake. The searchlight picked up the far shore of the lake with the waves hammering against the rocks which lined that particular section. It was a grim, unnerving picture and Helen saw Jim Preston’s jaw harden as he swung the Liberty around the cross back to Linder’s side of the lake. Back and forth the searchlight swung in its steady, never tiring arc, but it revealed only the danger of Lake Dubar at night. There was no sign of Margaret. <div class="pb" id="Page_133">[133]</div> They reached the shore from which they had started and turned around for a third trip across the lake. This time they slapped through the waves at twenty-five miles an hour and every eye was trained to watch for some sign of the missing boat and girl. Helen caught a flash of white just as the searchlight reached the end of its arc. “Wait!” she cried. “I saw something far to the right.” Preston slapped the wheel of the Liberty over and the speedboat roared away in the direction Helen pointed, its questing searchlight combing the waves. “There it is again,” Helen cried and pointed straight ahead where they could discern some object half hidden by the waves. “That’s one of my boats,” muttered old Mr. Linder as they drew nearer, “but it doesn’t look like there was anyone in it.” “Don’t, don’t say that!” cried Helen. “There must be someone there. Margaret must be in it!” In her heart she knew Mr. Linder was right. The boat was rolling in the choppy waves and there was no one visible. <div class="pb" id="Page_134">[134]</div> “It’s half full of water,” exclaimed Ned Burns as they drew nearer and Jim Preston throttled down the Liberty and eased in the clutch. Helen pushed them aside and stared at the rowboat, fully revealed in the glaring rays of the searchlight. Tragedy was dancing on the waters of Lake Dubar that night, threatening to write an indelible chapter on the hearts of Helen and her classmates for there was no sign of Margaret in the boat. “Maybe she shoved the boat out into the lake and hid in the woods,” said Ned Burns. “She wouldn’t do that,” protested Helen. They edged nearer the rowboat, Preston handling the Liberty with care lest the waves created by the boat’s powerful propeller capsize the smaller boat. “There’s something or someone in the back end,” cried Ned Burns, who was three or four inches taller than anyone else in the boat. Helen stood on tip-toe. “It’s Margaret,” she cried. “Something’s wrong. It looks like she’s asleep.” But sleep in a water-logged rowboat in the middle of Lake Dubar was out of the question and Helen realized instantly that something unusual had happened to Margaret, something which would explain the whole joke which had turned out to be such a ghastly nightmare. <div class="pb" id="Page_135">[135]</div> Jim Preston eased the Liberty alongside the rowboat and Mr. Linder reached down and picked Margaret up. There was a dark bruise over her left eye and her clothes were soaked. The boatman found an old blanket in one of the lockers and they wrapped Margaret in it and pillowed her head in Helen’s lap. Margaret’s eyes were closed tightly but she was breathing slowly and her pulse was irregular. “Hurry,” Helen whispered to Jim Preston. “Head for Linder’s. Her father will be there by this time.” The boatman sensed the alarm in Helen’s words and he jerked open the throttle of the Liberty and sent the boat racing through the night. In less than five minutes they were slowing down for the pier. The lights of a car were at the shore end of the landing and someone with an electric torch was awaiting their arrival. It was Doctor Stevens, pacing along the planks of the landing stage. “Have you found Margaret?” he cried as the Liberty sidled up to the pier. “Got her right here,” replied Jim Preston, “but she’s got a bad bump on her head.” <div class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</div> Doctor Stevens jumped into the boat and turned his flashlight on Margaret’s face. Helen saw his lips tighten into a thin straight line. He felt her pulse. “Run ahead,” he told Ned Burns, “and tell Mother Linder to open one of those spare beds of hers and get me plenty of hot water.” He stooped and picked Margaret up in his arms, carrying her like a baby. Mr. Linder hurried ahead to light the way. Helen stopped to talk with Jim Preston for a moment. “I think you’d better take the class home,” she said. “There’s nothing more they can do here.” “Will you go back with them now?” asked the boatman. “No, I’m going to stay here tonight. I’ll phone mother.” Helen turned and ran toward the farmhouse. Inside there was an air of quiet, suppressed activity. Doctor Stevens had carried Margaret into the large downstairs bedroom which Mother Linder reserved for company occasions. Two kerosene lamps on a table beside the bed gave a rich light which softened the pallor of Margaret’s cheeks. <div class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</div> Doctor Stevens was busy with an injection from a hypodermic needle, working as though against time. Tragedy had danced on the tips of the waves a few minutes earlier but how close it came to entering the farmhouse only Doctor Stevens knew at that hour for Margaret’s strength, sapped by the terrifying experience on the lake, was near the breaking point and only the injection of a strong heart stimulant saved her life. Two hours later, hours which had been ages long to Helen as she sat beside the bed with the doctor, Margaret opened her eyes. “Don’t talk, Marg,” begged Helen. “Everything is all right. You’re in a bedroom at the Linders and your father is here with you.” Margaret nodded slightly and closed her eyes. It was another hour before she moved again and when she did Mother Linder was at hand with a steaming bowl of chicken broth. The nourishing food plus the hour of calm sleep had partially restored Margaret’s strength and when she had finished the broth she sat up in bed. “I’ve been such a little fool,” she said, but her father patted her hand. <div class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</div> “Don’t apologize for what’s happened,” he said. “We’re just supremely happy to have you here,” his voice so low that only Margaret and Helen heard him. “I thought it would be a good joke to disappear when Miss Carver started telling the ghost story,” explained Margaret. “I got the boat out into the lake without anyone seeing me and let it drift several hundred feet. When I tried to put the oars in the locks I stumbled, dropped them overboard and that’s the last I knew, except that for hours I was falling, falling, falling, and always there was the noise of the waves.” Margaret slipped back into a deep, restful sleep when she had finished her story. Helen, worn by the hours of tension, slid out of her chair and onto the floor, and when Doctor Stevens picked her up she was sound asleep. <div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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