WHAT TO DO IN A STORM
"Would you mind letting me see that cap for a minute, Mr. Perkins?"
asked the leader of the Black Bear Patrol.
The farmer seemed to hesitate as though loth to let his only evidence
go out of his hand; but after one good look at the smiling countenance
of Tom Chesney apparently he felt ashamed of suspecting that so
clean-looking a boy could mean to deceive him in any way. So he passed
the head-gear over.
Knowing that Tom must have some object in making this request the other
scouts pushed closer and watched eagerly. They saw him turn the cap
partly inside out.
"I thought as much," Tom remarked laughingly, at the same time
carefully picking several tiny objects up, which he held before the
eyes of the admiring farmer, who had doubtless never before heard of
such a thing as "scoutcraft."
"Look for yourself, Mr. Perkins," Tom said exultantly; "you will have
no difficulty in recognizing these as fiery red hairs. The boy
mentioned by my chum here, has a brick-top like that. I should say the
evidence is about as conclusive as anything could be."
Mr. Perkins' mouth had opened wide. He was apparently thunder-struck by
the cleverness displayed by this stripling in clinching the guilt of
the party who had stolen his spring chickens.
"Tell me his name again, Bub," he said turning to Josh; "I calc'late
makin' it some warm for him unless I gets pretty good pay for them
fowls."
"His name is Tony Pollock," he was told with a grin, for somehow Josh
seemed to be tickled over the retribution that was likely to overtake
the boy who had for so long a time acted as a bully in Lenox.
After some talk the farmer withdrew, taking with him his evidence in
the shape of the queer checked cap, and also the best wishes of the
assembled scouts, who gave him a cheer as he drove away.
He had even promised to drop around at a couple of their houses with
messages hastily scribbled, to the effect that the boys were very well,
and having the time of their lives.
Needless to say that those who sent these were the tender feet of the
troop. Horace and Billy, who imagined that their respective mothers
must be lying awake nights in mortal fear lest something dreadful had
happened to the heretofore pampered darlings. Most of the other boys
were accustomed to being away from home, and prided themselves on being
able to show the spirit of veteran campers.
The fowls turned out to be the peer of any the boys had ever tasted.
Indeed with the chicken cooked a delicate brown by those in charge, and
seasoned with the keen appetites a day in the open air is apt to give a
boy, that supper must always linger in their memories as a bright spot
never to be excelled.
By now the greenhorns would be getting more accustomed to seeing the
woods all around them, and probably sleep better than they did before.
The second night in camp always does find everybody feeling more at
ease, and settling down for a good rest.
They had no reason to find fault with anything that happened to them
after the departure of Mr. Perkins. The stars came out in the heavens
and there was apparently no sign of rain.
To satisfy the more timid boys, Tom and Rob Shaefer had started on a
brush shanty, which they so far completed that it could be changed into
a fair shelter by making use of their rubber ponchos. It was not really
needed, though several of the boys chose to make up their beds under
its arched roof, mentioning that they might feel the dew if it
happened to prove heavy.
Again they prepared breakfast, and then started off with a day's tramp
ahead of them that would differ in many respects from anything as yet
encountered. This was because they expected to strike boldly up the
side of the massive mountain that reared its head far above them, its
slopes covered for the most part with a heavy growth of timber. This,
however, thinned out the nearer one came to the summit, which in turn
was composed of bald rocks, grim and silent, save when some eagle gave
its shrill scream from a projecting crag.
They took their last look at the little road, and then Tom led the way
into the heart of the wild growth. Just as they had anticipated it was
a great deal more difficult going now, for there was no trail save an
occasional cowpath which might lead down to the creek, or anywhere
else; and to which, for this reason, they could not pay any attention.
When noon came there was a loud call for a halt. While every boy was
too proud to confess that his muscles were beginning to feel sore from
the continual strain, he tried pretty hard to find some plausible
excuse for wanting to make a good long halt.
While they were eating and fanning themselves, for it was very warm,
Walter Douglass noticed Tom glancing off toward the southwest. Upon
looking in that direction himself he burst out with an exclamation:
"It's going to strike us this time, boys, as sure as anything!"
"What another irate farmer?" cried Josh, laughingly. "Whatever have the
scouts been doing this time to raise trouble? We've been accused of
trespassing, and stealing chickens; p'raps they'll try to make out we
have evil designs on some country bank."
"It looks like a storm," admitted Tom; upon which Billy Button began to
stare at the clouds in plain sight, and Horace seemed to be listening
anxiously to catch the first distant mutter of thunder in the air.
"If you are all through eating," said Mr. Witherspoon, "perhaps we had
better move out of this. I'm not the best judge of such things, but I
think we could find a better spot than this to stay during the storm."
"There! listen to that, will you?" exclaimed George as they heard a
heavy boom that seemed to throb on the heavily charged air like the
roar of a monster siege gun.
Horace was looking a little pale, though he set his teeth hard
together, and apparently had made up his mind to at least refrain from
showing the white feather, no matter how frightened he felt.
They did up their packs, keeping the rubber ponchos out, according to
the advice of the patrol leader.
"At the worst we can put our heads through the slit in the center," he
explained to them; "and then it serves as a waterproof to keep the
upper part of you dry. But perhaps we can find an overhanging shelf of
rock under which all of us can crawl."
"But how about that fine big tree yonder, couldn't we take shelter
under that?" asked Horace, pointing to a massive oak with
wide-spreading branches that made a canopy through which even a
downpour of rain could hardly penetrate.
"Never!" Tom told him hastily. "A tree standing apart like that is
always one of the most dangerous places you can select when seeking
shelter from an electrical storm. Far better stay out and take your
little soaking than to take chances in a barn, or under an isolated
tree. In the forest it is not so bad, where there are hundreds of
trees; but then you ought to be careful which one you select. Lightning
loves a shining mark, you know."
"But that big tree has stood for one or two hundred years and never
been hit by lightning," objected Horace, who could not understand
exactly.
"So have others that I've seen shattered to fragments," Mr. Witherspoon
told him, "but their time came at last, and without warning. We can't
afford to accept the risk. There is only one safe way, and that is to
avoid dangerous places."
The thunder grew louder with every peal. There were vivid flashes of
lightning, too, each of which caused Horace to start and close his
eyes, though he bravely suppressed the groan that seemed ready to burst
from his lips.
Tom, as well as Mr. Witherspoon, Josh and Rob Shaefer, was constantly
on the lookout for some sign of shelter. The ground seemed to favor the
possibility of finding something in the line of overlapping lines of
rock, which, forming a mushroom ledge, would screen them from the
violence of the expected downpour.
After all, the honor of making the discovery went to Carl.
"Look over yonder between those bushes, sir; doesn't that seem to be
about the kind of place you're after?" he called out, clutching the
scout master by the arm.
So impressed was Mr. Witherspoon by what he saw that he immediately
directed all of his charges to make for the spot pell-mell. The first
big drops were coming down as they arrived, to find that, sure enough,
the ledges of stone cropped out as much as six or seven feet.
"Crawl under wherever you can find a good place, and lie quiet!"
ordered the scout master; and in several detachments they proceeded to
get out of the rain, now commencing to fall heavily.
The wind rushed through the branches with a furious shriek; the thunder
crashed; they heard several trees fall under the strain; and then
without warning came a blinding flash, with a terrific ear-splitting
roar of thunder accompanying it.
Horace, who with a number of others was in the cavity Tom had chosen,
shrank close to the leader of the Black Bear Patrol.
"Oh, Tom!" he cried, when his voice could be heard, "didn't that sound
right from where that magnificent big oak tree stood that I wanted to
get under?"
"Just what it did!" Josh Kingsley told him, vehemently, while Tom said:
"We'll investigate after the storm is over, Horace; but right now I'm
of the opinion your fine oak is lying shattered into fragments by the
bolt that fell!"