“You can see how this is, for the wind coming from the east up to the time the core of the gale strikes them, is from the west after the center has passed by. We may be about to get the other side of this little storm now.”
“Listen to it roaring, up on the mountain?” cried Horace.
“I wonder what those other fellows are doing about now?” Josh was heard to say, in a speculative way.
“Of course you mean Tony Pollock and his crowd,” observed Tom. “Unless they’ve been as lucky as we were they’re feeling pretty damp ground this time. Still Tony is a shrewd fellow, and may have discovered some sort of shelter before the downpour came.”
“I hope so,” Horace went on to say, for he was not at all cruel by disposition; “because I wouldn’t want a dog to be out in this blow, much less boys I’ve known all my life, even if they have been an ugly lot.”
There was a short interval of violent downpour. Then all at once the storm again slackened, and soon the rain ceased.
Horace had been whispering to Tom, and the pair of them now started to crawl out from under the shelter.
“Where are you going, Tom?” asked Josh, wondering what the strange move meant.
“Just mean to take a little walk over here,” was the reply; “we’ll be back in a few minutes. Horace is curious to see if it was the big oak that was struck.”
“I’ll go along, if you don’t object,” said the always ready Josh.