Soon the rain came down pattering on the bark roof and the four campers had to sit hunched up under their shed.
“How did you know, Mr. Barker,” Tim asked, “that the rain would come from the west?”
“I did not know it,” the trapper acknowledged; “but I know from experience that most of the showers in this region come from the west, so I faced our shelter to the east.”
The lads sat in awed silence as the lightning played back and forth between the Minnesota and Wisconsin bluffs and lit up the river and the woods as with great flashlights, and the thunder rolled and rumbled and echoed from east to west and from the high island to the south.
The lean-to shed the water perfectly, for the trapper had seen to it that the rough bark shingles overlapped well and that all pieces with knot-holes were rejected.
When the violent lightning and thunder had passed eastward, the lads ran out and took a shower-bath in the rain and it was not long before all four were again sound asleep under their warm blankets in front of the slowly burning fire.
CHAPTER XVII—SOUTHWARD AT LAST
When the lads arose next morning, their eyes gazed with joy and wonder on the valley below, tinted with the rosy light of an ideal morning of early spring. The river was no longer a big stream held by well-defined banks.
“Look, Bill,” Tim exclaimed, with wondering eyes. “Lake Pepin has run over. All the woods are under water.”
The river was indeed almost two miles wide, overflowing in the forests, covering marshes and meadows, from bluff to bluff. Like a fiery red ball, the sun came creeping over the eastern bluffs, and a soft red tint was reflected from the great flood below the camp.