The shrieking wind had proved too much for the second of the tall trees that towered above the cabin. It gave way before the gale. With an ominous crackling, with branches snapping like pistol shots, it began to fall. The boys could hear the gathering roar as the great tree plunged down toward the roof of the cabin.
Hanleigh leaped to his feet in fright, then sagged helplessly against the wall as his injured ankle refused to support his weight.
“We’re done for!” he shouted, in terror. “The cabin is falling in!”
Crash!
The tree had struck the chimney. There was a deluge of stones on the roof. The boys cowered in the kitchen. If the roof gave, they might be seriously injured. Hanleigh, a picture of abject fright, crouched in the corner.
With a hideous roar, the chimney collapsed.
At the same time, the great tree went sweeping down past the side of the cabin. When it struck the chimney its downward course had been diverted.
The falling stones broke great holes in the roof of the cabin and came crashing down into the living room. A cloud of dust rose from the fireplace. A stone crashed to the floor, rebounded and smashed a pane of glass. It seemed as though the din would never end.
“Let’s get out of here!” Hanleigh was babbling, white with fear. “Let’s get out. We’ll be killed! The whole place is coming down about our ears.”
“We’re all right!” snapped Frank. “Be quiet!”