“Had no idea,” Roy answered. “I dropped off again right afterwards. Pop, do we reach the rapids to-day?”
“We should,” the puncher replied. “If nothin’ happens, I expect to see Whirlpool River Ranch by night. Then the thing to do is to find those locoed steers, that Gus—er, I mean that The Pup—chased.” By common consent the subject of Gus’s disappearance had not been discussed. It was a painful subject for all of them, since they all liked the young cowboy. Each hoped sincerely that, somehow, Gus would some day return and take his place with them once more.
“What do you mean, unless something happens?” Bug Eye questioned, more to relieve the uncomfortable silence induced by the mention of Gus’s name than anything else. “Ain’t gettin’ pessimistic or nothin’, are yuh?”
“Well, yuh can’t tell,” Pop said philosophically. “This river is treacherous. I’ve seen her when it looked like she wouldn’t drown a cat, then it started to rain, an’ in ten minutes she was bubblin’ like a wash-boiler over a furnace—sweepin’ over the bank, raisin’ Cain generally. But I reckon the weather’ll stay clear fer a while.” He squinted up at the sky. “Yep, we won’t get no rain to-day.”
“Now I’ll bet it’ll pour,” Bug Eye jeered. “Pop, I hearn you prophesy before. Yo’re not so hot. Just before we had that cloudburst last spring, you said we was in fer a drought.”
Scorning a reply to such calumny, the veteran puncher pulled out his pipe and lit it. Then, puffing contentedly, he watched the shore line slip by.
Whether the gods of the storm had heard Pop’s boast and decided to put him in his place or not, the fact is that it did rain—and rain hard. Along about three o’clock the clouds started to gather, and by four the first drops fell. Within a few minutes the peaceful scene was changed to a furious tempest, with wind, lightning, and finally hail scourging the earth.
As soon as white-caps appeared on the surface of the water the boys headed for shore, and succeeded in getting their craft to a point of safety on the bank before the real deluge started.
They turned the canoe over and piled branches at its sides, thus keeping the blankets and rifles dry, while they stood shivering under the partial shelter of a tree. They felt that they were as secure there as any place, though the lightning flashed almost continuously. One bolt struck a quakermast not a hundred feet from where they were standing, but it did no more damage than searing off the bark. The thunder, following the flash, was deafening.
When the rain had abated somewhat, they ran toward the river. Pop’s description of it after a storm had not been exaggerated. The current had increased tenfold, and it fairly roared as it dashed over the rocks. Yellow foam was tossed high upon the shore.