Dan’s Cub cap was lifted from his head, and carried far down river. For a moment it floated on the surface, and then slowly sank out of sight.
Dan scrambled to fasten down all other loose objects. Rain now was coming down in a torrent. Unable to see many feet ahead of them, the boys lost sight of the raft and the motorboat. For a time they could hear the chug-chug of the raft’s engine, and then all sound except the howl of the wind died away.
“This is awful!” Dan exclaimed as a vivid streak of lightning cut across the dark sky. “Let’s strike for Skeleton Island. We can find shelter there, at least.”
He reached for the paddle. Already the strong wind was propelling the boat in the general direction of the island.
At the tiller, Brad guided the craft more by instinct than sight. Wind and rain had blotted out all view of the shore.
Finally, the shadowy island loomed up. Worn out from hard paddling, Dan put on a last burst of energy which drove the boat onto the sandy beach.
Leaping out, he and Brad pulled the craft high up on the sand beyond reach of the waves. Then they raced for the shelter of a heavily wooded section some distance back from the beach.
“Jabowski lives in the caretaker’s quarters at the other end of the island,” Brad remarked, huddling against the trunk of a sheltering oak. “We might go there.”
“I’d rather wait here, Brad. This storm shouldn’t last long. Then we can hoist canvas and sail back to the clubhouse.”
Already the rain had slackened. The Cubs waited twenty minutes under the trees. By that time the downpour had dwindled to a drizzle. Then they made their way back through the dripping bushes to the beach.