Bob’s suggestion was at once acted upon; and soon the light of the camp-fire was leaping up in long tongues of flame. The wind served to increase the blaze, and the roar of the blazing logs was added to that of the rising storm.
For a time the boys sat in silence before the fireplace, gazing out over the river, and eagerly looking for the sight of the little canoe. They knew that even a skilled sailor would not dare to venture out in such a night, but as Ben was already on the river, he must find some place to land; and so, hoping against hope, the lads waited.
“There comes the rain,” said Bob, at last, as a few drops fell upon his upturned face. “What a night to be out on the river in!”
“Jock,” said Bert, “haven’t I read that these canoes are upset very easily on the river here?”
“I think it’s likely. They are capsized, whether you’ve read it or not.”
“Ben can swim, anyway,” said Bert, “and that’s one comfort.”
“I’m afraid he couldn’t swim very far to-night,” replied Jock, gloomily. “He couldn’t see ten yards before him, and he wouldn’t know where to start for. Whew! Just hear that!”
The rain was now coming faster, and beat upon the faces of the boys and fell sputtering into the fire. The wind, however, was so strong that the fire roared and snapped, and a cloud of smoke was borne away down the river. Inky blackness surrounded them, and the sounds of the storm-swept river became steadily louder.
“There’s no use in all of us staying out here in the rain. The rest of you go into the tent, and I’ll stay here and attend to the fire,” said Jock.