“Uncle Hiram!” cried the boy, as soon as he recovered from his amazement. “Uncle Hiram, where are you?”
There was no answer to this call and for the moment Joe’s heart seemed to stop beating. Was the old hermit under that pile of ruins? If so it was more than likely he was dead.
Dropping his fish and his lines, the youth sprang to the front of the cabin. The door had fallen to the ground and before him was a mass of wreckage with a small hollow near the bottom. He dropped on his knees and peered inside.
“Uncle Hiram!” he called again
There was no answer, and he listened with bated breath. Then he fancied he heard a groan, coming from the rear of what was left of the cabin. He ran around to that point and pulled aside some boards and a broken window sash.
“Uncle Hiram, are you here?”
“Joe!” came in a low voice, full of pain The man tried to say more but could not.
Hauling aside some more boards, Joe now beheld the hermit, lying flat on his back, with a heavy beam resting on his chest. He was also suffering from a cut on the forehead and from a broken ankle.
“This is too bad, Uncle Hiram!” he said, in a trembling voice. “I’ll get you out just as soon as I can.”
“Be–be careful, Joe–I–I–my ribs must be broken,” gasped the hermit.
“I’ll be careful,” answered the boy, and began to pull aside one board after another. Then he tugged away at the beam but could not budge it.
“Raise it up Joe–it–is–crushing the life ou–out of me,” said the hermit faintly.
“I’ll pry it up,” answered the boy, and ran off to get a block of wood. Then he procured a stout pole and with this raised the heavy beam several inches.
“Can you crawl out, Uncle Hiram?”
There was no answer, and Joe saw that the man had fainted from exhaustion. Fixing the pole so it could not slip, he caught hold of the hermit and dragged him to a place of safety.
Joe had never had to care for a hurt person before and he scarcely knew how to proceed. He laid the hermit on the grass and washed his face with water. Soon Hiram Bodley opened his eyes once more.
“My chest!” he groaned. “All of my ribs must be broken! And my ankle is broken, too!” And he groaned again.
“I had better get a doctor, Uncle Hiram.”
“A doctor can’t help me.”
“Perhaps he can.”
“I haven’t any faith in doctors. A doctor operated on my mother and killed her.”
“But Doctor Gardner is a nice man. He will do all he can for you, I am sure,” urged Joe.
“Well, Dr. Gardner is a good fellow I admit. If you–can–can get him–I’ll–I’ll –” The sufferer tried to go on but could not.
“I think I can get him. But I hate to leave you alone.” And Joe stared around helplessly. He wished he had Ned with him.
“Never mind–give me a drink–then go,” answered Hiram Bodley. He had often taken Doctor Gardner out to hunt with him and liked the physician not a little.
Inside of five minutes Joe was on the way to the doctor’s residence, which was on the outskirts of Riverside. He had left the hermit as comfortable as possible, on a mattress and covered with a cloth to keep off the night air,– for it was now growing late and the sun had set behind the mountains.
Tired though he was the boy pulled with might and main, and so reached the dock of the physician’s home in a short space of time. Running up the walk of the neatly-kept garden, he mounted the piazza and rang the bell several times.
“What’s the matter?” asked Doctor Gardner, who came himself to answer the summons.
“Our cabin is in ruins, because of the storm, and Mr. Bodley is badly hurt,” answered Joe, and related some of the particulars.
“This is certainly too bad, my boy,” said the physician. “I’ll come at once and do what I can for him.”
He ran for a case of instruments and also for some medicines, and then followed Joe back to the boat.