Bob made a heroic attempt but could not move a single step.
“No use,” he said. “Just have to wait a moment, I guess. Maybe—” he stopped as a clap of thunder drowned out his voice—“it’ll quit hurting before long.”
Joe shouted at the top of his voice to his father and Mr. Holton, hoping that they would hear and stop. But it was useless. In that uproar sound would not travel any distance to speak of.
He removed his revolver from its holster and pulled the trigger. But no report followed. In some manner water had found its way to the cartridges.
Still hoping that Bob would soon be able to walk, he waited, listening to the pattering of the rain and the bursts of the thunder. If possible, the hurricane raged even more furiously than before.
A little later Bob announced that he was able to walk. With his friend he set off, slowly, of course, but surely.
But by now the chums had lost all sense of direction. They had not the slightest notion of where they could find the safari. Perhaps, for all they knew, it was moving in just an opposite direction.
Even when the surrounding forest was illuminated by streaks of lightning the boys could not see far because of the trees.
“Looks like they’re gone,” mourned Bob.