When he and Tom had gone, Ben declared he was going out alone for a sail. He would not listen to the remonstrances of his comrades, and soon started from the dock. The boys watched him until the canoe disappeared behind the nearest island. They had no thought of peril, but when the darkness deepened, and at last the hour of retiring had arrived, the uneasiness in the camp had become a fear which no one dared to express.
CHAPTER XI.
A NIGHT OF ANXIETY.
To add to the consternation of the boys, the face of the sky was now obscured by clouds, and the rising wind gave tokens of a coming storm. The tall trees groaned and swayed, and the quiet waters of the river were rising, and already were beginning to lash the low beach.
“I’m afraid Ben’s in trouble,” said Jock, unable to endure the silence longer. “If he’s all right, he never could find his way in such darkness as this.”
“He started out as if he was going up the stream,” said Bert, no less troubled than his friend. “He ought to have been able to get back.”
“He ought not to have gone out at all, as far as the ‘ought’ is concerned,” replied Jock, gloomily. “Here we were thinking Ethan was a greenhorn; but he’s forgotten more than we ever knew. It was a fool trick for Ben to start out as he did.”
“Well, he went, and that’s all there is to say about it. We’ll pile the logs up higher and wait. It’s all we can do now,” said Bob.