Apparently observing the approach of the sailboat, the raft began to pull away from the motor craft.
At that same moment, a dead calm fell upon the river. Startled, Brad raised his eye to the sail which had been drawing well. Now it had slumped into listless, discouraged folds.
“Just our luck!” Dan muttered in disgust. “The breeze plays out!”
“It’s worse than that,” Brad said, thoroughly alarmed. “We’re in the calm that precedes a bad thunderstorm!”
Both the sky and the water had taken on a dark cast. Although not a breath of air stirred, heavy waves pounded against the drifting boat.
“Gosh, we’re a long ways from shore too!” Dan said in dismay. “Skeleton Island is the closest point of land. Think we can make it before the storm breaks?”
“Not a chance,” Brad muttered. “She’s coming now!”
Across the water they could see a misty sheet of water descending.
“There will be wind in a minute! Plenty of it! Dan! Help me get the sail down before it strikes us.”
Working with all speed, the boys lowered the sail from the mast. Before they could furl it, the wind struck, throwing the boat far over on its side.