“I don’t worry about fire so much as the danger that the chimney might come tumbling down in a high wind,” Chet said. “If there is one crack like that, there may be others, higher up. And if the chimney ever gave way—wow!”
“We would certainly have a nice little shower of stone,” Biff said. “Well, why go looking for trouble? Wait until it happens.”
Chet insisted that he was not looking for trouble, but that he was merely pointing out what might happen. Just then there was a particularly violent gust of wind. The cabin shook. The chimney was staunch.
“I think it’s good for a few years yet,” Joe said. “Why worry?”
Their conversation about the chimney, however, was to be recalled to the boys very forcibly later on.
The next day it was Joe’s turn to remain at the cabin as “chief cook and bottle-washer.” The others went out in one of the ice-boats and made a trip as far as the village. They did not stop at the little place, being in no mind to incur any of Amos Grice’s long-winded conversation, and turned about, sending the fleet little boat swooping down into the wind. They were about a quarter of a mile from the cabin and just debating the advisability of making a trip down into the cove when they heard a sound that aroused them to a high pitch of excitement.
Crack!
Sharp and clear, the sound carried through the winter air.
“The rifle!” exclaimed Frank.
“Somebody down at the rocks!”