Nearer came the devouring line of black. Birds were flying for shelter. A fresh breeze sprang up, blowing toward the advancing giant, as if he were sucking in the air. The river, upon which appeared not a sign of Sam and Joe, changed from silver to dull lead frosted by a multitude of white-caps.
“It’s pretty grand, isn’t it!” commented Ned, struck with the majesty of the storm, and with the novelty of their plight.
“Y-yes,” replied Hal; who, nevertheless, preferred to look upon the scene, however grand, from the neighborhood of some convenient house.
Until the very last moment they sat here; then, with the first spattering drops of rain, they dived for shelter. With flare of lightning, and crackle of thunder, and roar of wind, the rain descended in torrents; but only a whiff of spray now and then reached the boys, tucked in the farthermost recess of their cave.
It seemed as though the rain never would abate, for as often as it slackened, and the boys took hope, so often it was sure to be swelled by a gust of reinforcements. But finally it died to a drizzle, and Ned made bold to slip out and take a survey.
The storm was over, practically, but the dusk of evening was settling down in earnest.
“Who-oo-oo-oo-ee-ee!” shouted Ned, thinking that perhaps Sam and Joe might be within hearing, although he did not see any skiff.
No answer.
Hal came out, and joined him in another call, which brought no response but the echoes. Oppressed by the dampness and the rapidly waxing gloom, the boys felt a strange desolation.
“I wonder how Bob liked the storm,” spoke Ned, trying to be cheerful. “He must have been scared!”