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, rea.s.suringly, "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 pa.s.s 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 sh.o.r.e."

"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 sh.o.r.e. 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 La.s.sie and the puppies had been rescued.

Ross slung the basket, with its living freight, across his shoulders and started off. La.s.sie 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 sh.o.r.e 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.

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.

"h.e.l.lo, 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 mola.s.ses 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.