The Mysterious Code

yet,” Trixie
said, her own flashlight beam seeking anything they could use. “There’s a
lantern!” She picked it up. “And a folder of matches right by it!” she said as
she struck a match and lit the lantern. She swung its yellow light around into
comers, hunting stored wood. There were only two or three logs near the stove.
    “There must be a woodpile nearby,” Jim said. “I'll go out to see if I can find it.”
    He opened the door,
but the wind roaring through the opening threw him back into the room.
    “You can’t go out
there,” Trixie said. “You’d never find your way back. You’d freeze to death!”
    “Where do you think
you’d rather freeze,” Brian asked, “inside or outside? There isn’t much
difference. I’ll go.”
    “Nobody will go out
in this storm,” Trixie said determinedly. “We’ll bum the benches.”
    “Just three of
them?” Jim asked. “How long would they last? And what would we use to chop them
up? No, we’ll have to find the woodpile.” Trixie pulled off her mittens, blew
on her fingers to warm them, thinking all the while. Suddenly an idea came to
her. “I heard old Brom telling Bobby a story the other day about a storm,” she
said. “Let me think—what did he say they did? Oh, yes, he told about getting
wood from outside. Let me see... one man would stand just outside the house,
and the other would tie the end of a rope around his waist. If the first man
got lost before he could find the wood, he would tug on the rope to let the
other one know, and he’d pull him back to safety.”
    “We can try it!” Jim
exclaimed. “Only where will we find a rope?”
    There was no sign of
a rope around the old schoolroom. There was nothing but some twine used to tie
the feed sacks.
    “That idea is out,”
Jim said. “Think of something else, Trixie. It’ll have to be quick, too,
because it must be almost zero in this room right now.”
    Jim blew his breath
out. It came back to him in a cloud of steamy vapor.
    “The school bell!”
Trixie exclaimed. “It must have a ropel Right over there in the comer, Jim,
back of you, in that little closet. Open the door!” Jim opened the narrow door.
There hung the frayed rope that was attached to the bell! Inside the small
closet there was a narrow ladder. Jim climbed it, unfastened the rope, and
dropped it to the floor.
    “It’s almost worn
through in several places,” Brian said, running it through his hands. “We’ll
have to try it, though, Jim. Let’s go!”
    Each boy wanted to
be the one to go out into the storm. They could only decide by drawing lots, so
Trixie held two pieces of straw. Jim drew the shorter of the two.
    “I’ll fasten this
end of the rope around my waist,” Brian said, “and stand right there outside
the door.”
    “I'll put the other
one around my waist,” Jim said.
    Outside, it seemed
as though an angry giant had wrapped his great arms around the little
school-house, trying to crush its sides, and had frosted its panes with his icy
breath. Jim, caught up in the rush of wind, waved his arm gallantly and
shouted, “Geronimo!” as he dashed into the storm. He disappeared in the swirling
snow.
    While the talk had
been going on, Reddy had rushed nervously back and forth across the room in
front of the door. When Brian and Jim went out, he tried to dart ahead of them,
but Trixie caught and held him. “You stay with me,” she commanded. “Down,
Reddy!”
    Before he left, Jim
had fastened his wristwatch around Trixie’s wrist. Seconds ticked away...
minutes.... From time to time Trixie opened the door a crack to speak to Brian.
    He and Jim had
arranged a signal. If Jim found the woodpile, he would jerk once on the rope.
If he wanted to come back, he would jerk twice.
    “Did you feel any
motion on the rope yet?” Trixie asked Brian.
    “Nothing,” he
answered, huddling against the house. “Of course, it slackens and tightens as
he goes through the blizzard. It’s like the North Pole out here, Trixie. Go
back indoors!”
    Trixie turned.
    “Wait!” Brian
shouted. “There’s a jerk! Eureka, he’s found the wood! It won’t be long now
till we have a fire. Go in and twist some of those empty paper bags that held
the birdseed, Trixie. Make a bed of them in the stove, and we can kindle the
wood chunks Jim will bring.”
    Trixie hurried to
his bidding, then waited. Seconds ticked by... minutes... Jim did not come
back.
    “Where is he?”
Trixie called through the door to Brian.
    “I