They left the vicinity of the ledges, and once more entered the tall timber. But the others knew that Thad was indulging in no hope that they could discover any signs of the trail, or follow it, even though an occasional footprint remained. He had some other purpose in leading them backward, and they could hazard a pretty good guess as to what it might be.
There were abundant signs of the storm’s passage all around them. Some of the more slender trees still bowed their heads in the direction where, far away in the distance, the thunder still growled and muttered. Here and there the boys could see one that had been uprooted, and either thrown flat to the ground, or else received in the sheltering embrace of some neighbor, that held it in a half reclining attitude.
And presently Giraffe gave vent to a loud cry.
“It did strike Step Hen’s tree!” he exclaimed.
“Where is it? I don’t see the same;” demanded Step Hen.
“Look again. Rub your eyes, and wake up! Don’t you glimpse that pile of branches over there, scattered in every direction?” asked Giraffe.
“Sure I do,” admitted the other, “but how d’ye know now that wreckage came from my tree?”
“Why, that’s easy,” replied Giraffe. “Notice that shattered trunk partly standing yet? Well, step this way and you can see where part, only part, mind you, Step Hen, is left of that hiding-place you wanted to crawl in.”
“Oh! my stars!” ejaculated the other scout, when his staring eyes told him that what his comrade said was the awful truth.
It had been the luckiest escape those four boys would ever know. They felt a great awe steal over them, accompanied by a sensation of thanksgiving, as they stood there looking at the ruin of that once proud king of the woods.