replied her father, “and they said all the phone wires west of the lake were down but that reports were a number of farm houses had been destroyed by the tornado.”
“Then you think someone may have been hurt?” asked Helen.
“I’m afraid so,” admitted Doctor Stevens as he shifted gears and the sedan leaped ahead through the storm. “We’ll have to trust to luck that we’ll reach farms where the worst damage occurred.”
The wind was still of nearly gale force and the blasts of rain which swept the graveled highway rocked the sedan. There was little conversation as they left Rolfe and headed into the hill country which marked the western valley of Lake Dubar.
The road wound through the hills and Doctor Stevens, unable to see more than fifty feet ahead, drove cautiously.
“Keep a close watch on each side,” he told the girls, “and when you see any signs of unusual damage let me know.”
They were nearly three miles from Rolfe when Margaret told her father to stop.
“There’s a lane to our right that is blocked with fallen tree trunks,” she said.
Doctor Stevens peered through the rain. A mail box leered up at them from a twisted post.
“This is Herb Lauer’s place,” he said. “I’ll get out and go up the lane.”
The doctor picked up his medical case and left the motor running so the heat it generated would keep ignition wires dry.
One window was left open to guard against the car filling with gas and the girls followed him into the storm. They picked their way slowly over the fallen trees which choked the lane. When they finally reached the farmyard a desolate scene greeted them.
The tornado, like a playful giant, had picked up the one story frame house and dashed it against the barn. Both buildings had splintered in a thousand pieces and only a huddled mass of wreckage remained. Miraculously, the corn crib had been left almost unharmed and inside the crib they could see someone moving.
Doctor Stevens shouted and a few seconds later there came an answering cry. The girls followed him to the crib and found the family of Herb Lauer sheltered there.
“Anyone hurt?” asked Doctor Stevens.
“Herb’s injured his arm,” said Mrs. Lauer, who was holding their two young children close to her.
“Think it’s broken, Doc,” said the farmer.
“Broken is right,” said Doctor Stevens as he examined the injury. “I’ll fix up a temporary splint and in the morning you can come down and have it redressed.”
The doctor worked quickly and when he was ready to put on the splint had Margaret and Helen help him. In twenty minutes the arm had been dressed and put in a sling.
“We’ll send help out as soon as we can,” said Doctor Stevens as they turned to go.
Helen had used the time to good advantage, making a survey of the damage done to the farm buildings and learning that they were fully protected by insurance. Mrs. Lauer, between attempts to quiet the crying of the children, had given Helen an eye-witness account of the storm and how they had taken refuge in the corn crib just before the house was swirled from its foundations.
Back in the car, the trio continued their relief trip. The rain abated and a little after four o’clock the sun broke through the clouds. Ditches along the road ran bankful with water and streams they crossed tore at the embankments which confined them.
“The worst is over,” said Doctor Stevens, “and we can be mighty thankful no one has been killed.”
Fifteen minutes later they reached another farm which had felt the effects of the storm. The house had been unroofed but the family had taken refuge in the storm cellar. No one had been injured, except for a few bruises and minor scratches.
At dusk they were fifteen miles west of Rolfe and had failed to find anyone with serious injury.
“We’ve about reached the limit of the storm area,” said Doctor Stevens. “We’ll turn now and start back for Rolfe on the Windham road.”
Their route back led them over a winding road and before they left the main graveled highway Doctor Stevens put chains on his car. They ploughed into the mud, which sloshed up on the sides of the machine and splattered against the windshield until they had to stop and clean the glass.
Half way back to Rolfe they were stopped by a lantern waving in the road.
Doctor Stevens leaned out the window.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
A farmer stepped out of the night into the rays of the lights of the car.
“We need help,” he cried. “The storm destroyed our house and one of my boys was pretty badly hurt. We’ve got to get him to a doctor.”
“I’m Doctor Stevens of Rolfe,” said Margaret’s father as he picked up his case and opened the door.
“We need you doctor,” said the farmer.
Helen and Margaret followed them down the road and into a grassy lane.
Lights were flickering ahead and when they reached a cattle shed they found a wood fire burning. Around the blaze were the members of the farmer’s family and at one side of the fire was the blanket-swathed form of a boy of ten or eleven.
“One of the timbers from the house struck him while he was running for the storm cave,” explained the farmer. “He just crumpled up and hasn’t spoken to us since. It’s as though he was asleep.”
Doctor Stevens examined the boy.
“He got a pretty nasty rap on the head,” he said. “What he needs is a good bed, some warm clothes and hot food. We’ll put him in my car and take him back to Rolfe. He’ll be all right in two or three days.”
The doctor looked about him.
“This is the Rigg Jensen place, isn’t it?” he asked.
“I’m Rigg Jensen,” said the farmer. “You fixed me up about ten years ago when my shotgun went off and took off one of my little toes.”
“I remember that,” said Doctor Stevens. “Now, if you’ll help me carry the lad, we’ll get him down to the car.”
“Hadn’t I better go?” asked Mrs. Jensen. “Eddie may be scared if he wakes up and sees only strangers.”
“Good idea,” said Doctor Stevens, as they picked up the boy and started for the car.
Helen went ahead, carrying the lantern and lighting the way for the men. They made the boy comfortable in the back seat and his mother got in beside him.
“Better come along,” Doctor Stevens told the father.
“Not tonight,” was the reply. “Mother is with Eddie and I know he’ll be all right now. I’ve got to take the lantern and see what happened to the livestock and what we’ve got left.”
There was no complaint in his voice, only a matter-of-factness which indicated
