"Hardly be safe now, Tommy," returned Bob. "If we could only get those miserable Trailers to follow us, there might still be time, though, to get to a safer place than this."
Off to the right, at no great distance, a point of land could clearly be seen, and just beyond that, according to the map, was a small enclosed bay. Had the boys chosen to think only of themselves, they would have been, even then, within reach of it.
But they were not that kind. Through the field-glass, the Nimrods were seen calmly drawing down awnings, and preparing to weather the approaching gale. They were headed almost broadside to the wind.
"What can they be thinking of?" cried Bob, in alarm. "When a storm sweeps over ten or fifteen miles of water, it isn't safe to take any chances with it."
The prow of the "Rambler" was turned toward them, the boys having decided that they must make an effort to give them assistance, if necessary.
By this time, the vast, rising body of cloud had assumed a strangely black and ominous appearance. Streaks of electric fire darted across the changing, billow-like forms, or shot downward to the earth, while rain blotted out the middle distance, apparently sweeping onward with the greatest fury.
Gusts of wind forced the boys to hold tightly to their caps. In a short time, the surface of the lake had completely changed. Spiteful little waves with foaming crests began to hurl themselves against the side of the motor boat.
"Now for the oilskins," shouted Bob, lustily, and the Ramblers, who had been eagerly watching the storm, hastily donned these garments.
"Here comes the rain!" cried Sam.
A few heavy drops sprinkled around them, then came a lull, which, however, lasted but a few seconds. Straight ahead, a line, rapidly advancing, stretched across the lake, a series of furious gusts heralding its approach.