Billy began to notice the various indications, since his attention had been called to them by his more observing companion; and he quickly found reason to agree with Hugh that they would soon see the last of the rain.
“Jiminy! if it came down as heavy as this near home,” he said humorously, for Billy could joke, no matter what the conditions were, “we’ll need a boat to paddle along the pike. And say, think of little Pioneer Lake, will you? Won’t it be over the dam and rushing down like a mill race, though?”
The boys could now exchange remarks, because the thunder had rolled further away, although occasionally a terrific crash near at hand startled Billy, who liked to thrust his head out from under his shelter, just as a tortoise might from his shell, only to jerk it back again when a dazzling flash was instantly succeeded by a stunning bang.
“Whew! that was the worst knock of all we’ve had!” he ejaculated the next moment, shivering so that Hugh could feel his form tremble.
“You have to watch out in a bad storm for those same after-claps,” the other informed him. “They nearly always come, and do a heap of damage. There’s something in the air that draws the lightning back again to repeat. And chances are that bolt shattered a tree into splinters, because I’m sure I heard the sound of falling limbs and branches.”
“Oh! Hugh, don’t you think it came right from the quarter where that big hollow oak stood which Arthur wanted all of us to use as a shelter from the storm?” Billy asked, considerable awe in his voice.
“I was thinking that myself,” replied the other soberly; “and when we go on, we’ll find out. If it should happen that way, the sight of it would be the greatest object lesson ever to Arthur; yes, to all of us.”
“I should say yes,” muttered Billy, as in imagination he pictured that lofty oak lying in ruins; “and I guess you did us all a great favor, Hugh, when you refused to let any scout find shelter under its branches, even if they did look mighty tempting.”
That one grand crash seemed to mark the winding up of the furious storm; for the rain stopped altogether, and gradually the surrounding woods became lighter. Still, no scout ventured to crawl forth, such was the spirit of obedience which had been fostered in the Wolf patrol in times past, when all manner of strange adventures had been the portion of the eight boys constituting it. Until the leader gave the signal, they must remain where they were; although one and all of them secretly confessed to being heartily tired of crouching in that strained attitude.
When Arthur and Bud heard the peculiar howl of the wolf—“How-oo-ooo”—softly repeated three times, they knew that this was the signal for release; and accordingly both boys came crawling out from their place of concealment, stretching their cramped limbs with more or less animation and gratitude.