Part 21 (2/2)

Streams of water were trickling across the ground, and the tent was tugging, like a thing of life, to free itself from the iron stakes.

Ned groped about until he found the lantern, and with great difficulty he lit it. Nugget was trembling like a leaf, but the others were, so far, more disgusted than frightened. A possible ducking, and the loss of a night's sleep, was the most they dreaded.

But soon the presence of a real and actual danger made itself known. The wind rose to such a point of violence that it was little short of a hurricane. Trees began to go down here and there, and the pa.s.sage of the gale through the forest on each sh.o.r.e was like the whirring flight of myriads of quail.

The tent was slightly protected by the timber on the upper point of the island; otherwise it must have yielded to the first onslaught of the storm.

”This is terrible,” whispered Ned. ”If it grows any worse I'm afraid we will fare badly. The tent is strained to its utmost now.”

”Even the iron stakes won't hold it if the wind gets through the flaps,”

said Randy in a dismal tone.

They were silent for a moment, listening to the increasing fury of the gale.

”Oh! this is awful,” wailed Nugget. ”The water is running down my neck, and I'm sitting in a big puddle. It's coming in all around me.”

”You ought to be thankful you're not sitting in the open air,” muttered Clay. ”That may be the next thing.”

At Ned's suggestion--which, strange to say, had not occurred to any one before--the boys overhauled their clothing bags and put on their rubber coats. Each was provided with one of those useful articles.

As they sat about the flickering flame of the lantern a more furious gust than any that had preceded came shrieking down the creek. In the midst of its pa.s.sage a great crash was heard, so loud and so near that the very ground seems to tremble.

The boys could not repress a cry of terror. A tree had fallen close by, and they dreaded lest another would crush the tent.

”Gracious! what if that was the big b.u.t.tonwood!” cried Randy. ”Our canoes--”

His agitated face finished the sentence more plainly than words could have done.

Ned rose, pulling his coat close about him, and seized the lantern.

”I must see about that,” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”Stay right here. I will be back in a moment.”

Before the others could utter a word of protest, he lifted the rear end of the canvas half a foot, and, with lantern in hand, squirmed through like a snake, leaving the tent in utter darkness.

CHAPTER XVIII

AT THE MERCY OF THE TEMPEST

The wind was so violent that Ned dared not stand erect. He crossed on hands and knees the brief stretch that separated the tent from the lower end of the island.

The b.u.t.tonwood was still standing--much to his relief--and the canoes were so far uninjured, though the gale was knocking them together pretty forcibly.

Bracing himself against the b.u.t.tonwood, Ned turned the lantern in all directions, and soon discovered the tree which had caused such alarm by its fall. It lay prostrate on the other island, but as a channel barely half a dozen yards wide separated the two, it was not surprising that the crash should have sounded very near.

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