He was himself more awed than he would care to admit by the nature of this awful storm. Nothing in all his limited experience had ever approached it in violence.
"Oh! that lucky Slavin crowd, to get home before this came along!" shouted envious William, when Paul came upon him trying to crawl under a rock that offered a little shelter from the fury of the blast.
When he could find no more boys to summon, Paul himself made his way toward the fallen mess tent. Here he found about a score of excited boys clustered, trying to bolster up each others' spirits by making out that they were not a bit afraid.
"Are all here?" Mr. Gordon first of all demanded, in such a way that every fellow was able to hear what he said.
Paul started to count, pulling each scout behind him. A flash from above was of considerable assistance to him in carrying out his plan.
"Not one missing but Nuthin, sir!" he announced, presently.
"Who saw him last?" demanded Mr. Gordon.
"I did, sir," replied one of the scouts, promptly; "he was hangin' on to our tent when it blew away into the air!"
"Oh! then he must have been carried up into the tree, for the tent stuck there," announced another voice, with a thrill of horror in it.