THE RAMBLERS WERE COMPLETELY BURIED
The Ramblers were completely buried under a blanket of canvas. Dick Travers had never seen a squall of equal severity. Bravely he struggled toward the forms which were caught beneath the spread of canvas, at times forced to turn his back to the storm.
Ted Pollock and Kirk Talbot, with Nat and John Hackett in the rear, were also pushing forward. The tents had fallen in such a manner that the imprisoned boys were able to make but little progress toward releasing themselves, although the movements of the canvas showed how hard they were struggling.
"Catch hold of this end!" yelled Dick to Ted Pollock.
Struggling against the violent gusts of wind, the boys all tugged and pulled at the heavy canvas until Dave Brandon's arm came into view. Then the stout poet, red-faced and puffing from his exertions, managed to crawl out from his uncomfortable quarters.
At length the other members of the club were rescued. Sam Randall, who had received a severe crack on the head from one of the poles, was the only boy who had suffered any ill effects from the accident.
Gradually the wind squall spent itself, although a canopy of gray still shut out the blue sky.
"Wonder what else is going to happen on this trip," remarked Sam Randall, after the Trailers had taken their leave. "Gaze at that wreck. Wow! it's a pretty sight, ain't it?"