He arose, walked up and down, then tried a shuffle, but, in spite of all, his eyes would close. Taking his gun, he made a trip to the brink of the lake, and dashed some of the clear, cool water in his face.
"That feels a sight better," he soliloquized, as he slowly retraced his steps and took a seat on the ground near the fire.
This proved to be a mistake. The effect of the water was but momentary. Dick closed his eyes for an instant, as he supposed. Then the wildcat, his surroundings, everything, faded from mind and view. He was as sound asleep as any of the others.
The light of early morning was spreading over a gray waste of cloud when he awoke. Several logs still flickered feebly. The dawn wore a cheerless aspect.
Dick Travers rubbed his eyes. A strong wind was blowing, in that peculiar manner which presages heavier blasts yet to come. The surface of the lake was a mass of rippling lines.
"My goodness!" exclaimed Dick, half aloud, and rubbing his eyes, "I've been asleep. Hello! We are going to have another blow sure enough. It's almost on top of us, too, and still the fellows are asleep."
Already, the trees in the forest were bending back and forth. Then, with a force that almost took Dick Travers' breath away, the wind squall advanced, coming almost parallel with the shore. The whole air seemed to fill with branches, leaves and flying particles. In a twinkling, the fire was scattered in all directions.
Dick saw the tents swaying in a most alarming fashion. He tried to shout, but the words were choked in his throat. It was almost impossible to stand up before the blast. The frightened Nimrods struggled to their feet, and just at this instant, the larger of the tents, unable to resist the tempest, went down, followed by the other.