“Bah!” flung back Piper from the waist of the canoe. “Anything we’ll find isn’t liable to make me run half as fast as you did this morning. As a sprinter, Craney, you could cop the blue ribbon if you happened to be chased by a ‘gouger’ or two.”
“Thinks he’s smart, don’t he?” muttered Sile, turning to Ben. “Why, he’s the biggest coward I ever saw. He’d run from his own shadder.”
In the full light of day Spirit Island wore a harmless, peaceful look, and the cool shadows of its pines seemed genuinely inviting to the perspiring lads who wielded the paddles. As they drew near the island Grant cast a glance toward the heavy black clouds, which were steadily mounting higher in the sky.
“Think there’s going to be a shower, Phil?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t wonder,” answered Springer. “Those look like thunderheads, though we haven’t heard any thunder yet.”
At this very moment, however, a low, muttering, distant grumble came to their ears, as if far away beyond the mountains the storm was getting into action.
“I think, comrades,” said Piper, “it will be wise for us to make all possible haste to conclude our investigations and return to the security of our tent. Without sufficient shelter, I’d scarcely find pleasure in being caught upon this island by a thunderstorm.”
“There’s the hermit’s hut, you know,” suggested Rod.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” returned Sleuth. “And, at any rate, it’s quite possible that the roof is rotten and leaky.”
Again the thunder was heard, somewhat more distinctly this time, and the clouds seemed to increase in blackness and density as they rose.