Black clouds were sweeping swiftly down back of them, and even as they looked a flash of vivid lighting resembling a forked dagger shot toward the earth, almost immediately succeeded by another deep-toned burst of thunder.
“What do you say to that, George?” demanded Josh, turning a triumphant face on the other.
“Oh! seems like you hit the mark with that guess,” admitted the other, “but then anybody might one out of three. Besides, we haven’t got the storm yet, have we? It may go around us.”
“No danger of that,” declared Josh; “these summer storms nearly always follow the channel of a river. I’ve known ’em to pour down pitchforks for half an hour on the water and the other bank, and never a drop fall on me. But we’ll get all the rain you want to see right soon now.”
“I do hope it’ll cool the air some then,” complained Buster, who being stouter than any of his chums, must have suffered more in proportion from the heat.
“What had we better do, Jack?” asked George, surveying the black clouds uneasily.
“It’s too bad that we don’t happen to see any cove where we could run in and stay,” replied the pilot; “so on the whole I think we’d better make a turn and head into the storm that’s coming down the river.”
“That sounds good to me!” declared Josh, instantly understanding the benefit such a course would likely bring to them; “our cabin is partly open in the rear, but well protected forward. We can use that tarpaulin to cover the well back here, and after all the storm won’t last long. Swing her around, Jack, and edge in a bit closer to the shore while you’re about it. The river is pretty wide right here.”
It seemed three times as wide to Buster just then, as at any time before; but of course this came from his suddenly awakened fears.
“How deep do you think it can be out here, Josh?” he asked after another fearful rolling crash of thunder had passed into rumblings in the distance.