CHAPTER IV.

THE COMING OF THE STORM.

Perhaps it was rather thoughtless of Billy to make such a remark as that. Gus immediately commenced feeling blue again.

“Oh, I hope that isn’t going to happen!” he remarked, while helping the stout boy get supper ready.

“Why, bless your innocent heart, Gus,” said Billy, patronizingly, “no storm that ever blew could hurt us here in these snug quarters, don’t you know?”

“But I wasn’t thinking so much of our getting injured as something else,” remonstrated the other, quickly.

“You mean about that trail, don’t you, Gus?” asked Hugh, who happened to overhear this little talk between the _chefs_.

“That’s just it, Hugh!” cried Gus. “I’m afraid that if it starts to raining real hard, or snowing, either, for that matter, we can never follow it any further. That would be too bad, you know.”

“Yes, that’s liable to happen,” Hugh admitted. “I’m sorry myself that twilight came along in the woods before I could get track of the trail again, so I had to give it up. But we’ll just have to lay on our oars, Gus, and hope for the best.”

By the time they had started eating, the wind had increased alarmingly. The moaning of the pines was now broken by frequent roars as the rising gale began to lash the trees furiously.

Although the scouts had weathered full many a storm during their previous experiences in camp, there seemed to be something altogether unusual about this one. It came so late in the season that it was, as Billy called it, “uncanny.”

“Why, to listen to that wind rushing through the woods,” he remarked, with his mouth filled with food, “you’d think it might be along about the equinox time instead of close on the end of November.”

“As for me,” declared Arthur, “I absolutely refuse to believe it. We must all be dreaming, or else the times are out of joint. I guess sounds are queer to us, for we’ve never been cooped up in the bunk-house of a deserted lumber camp before.”

“But that howl is made by the wind, you know,” urged Gus.

“We imagine it is,” grinned Arthur. “I tell you such a thing as a storm like this was never before known in the tail end of November. It just can’t be, that’s all!”

Now it chanced that all along Arthur Cameron had been looked up to by the rest of the troop as a clever weather prophet. He made it his business to study the various phases of the moon, and read up the reports sent out by the Government Weather Bureau.

Frequently he had been able to predict a change in conditions when no other fellow dreamed it was coming. He knew all about “signs” such as wise old countrymen go by when anticipating a severe winter, or a mild one. As a rule, these were based upon pretty sure foundations connected with the remarkable powers of instinct on the part of squirrels and other little wild animals while laying up their winter’s store of food.

Usually Hugh entertained considerable respect for what Arthur had to say concerning weather conditions. On this occasion, however, he laughed out loud.

“Excuse me, Arthur,” he said, seeing that the other was looking at him in a surprised way, “but when you said that it made me think of a story I once read.”

“Go on and tell it to us then, Hugh,” urged Billy, always eager to hear the assistant scout master relate anything, for, as a rule, it was to the point, and well worth listening to. The others also urged him to tell his story.

“There was a fellow who had been arrested and thrown into jail,” began Hugh. “He sent for his lawyer, who listened to his story, and seemed a whole lot impressed, as well as indignant. ‘I tell you, sir, they can’t put you in jail on such a silly charge as that; it’s utterly impossible!’ The man grinned and remarked: ‘But all the same, _here I am_, Mr. Jones; they’ve got me locked up all right.’”

Billy roared, while even Arthur smiled.

“Well, the story applies to what you were saying about the weather, Arthur,” continued Hugh. “Of course it’s out of all reason for such a wild summer storm to come down on us away at the end of November; and for one I would never believe such a thing could happen; but, nevertheless, listen a minute to all that racket outside, and you’re bound to agree with me that rule or no we’re up against it good and hard.”

“It’s a phenomenon, that’s what, and altogether unprecedented!” muttered the amateur weather sharp, at which Billy laughed some more, saying derisively:

“That’s right, Arthur; folks would know you had lawyers in your family. When you can’t argue against the opposing lawyer begin to abuse him, and make him mad. You want to strike at the weather now because it’s got the better of you. But listen to the wind shrieking, will you? Little it cares what you say about it, Arthur.”

After they were through supper Hugh made another suggestion.

“There’s no telling how long we may be cooped up here by this storm, fellows. On that account let’s get busy and fetch in all the wood you’ve cut.”

“A good idea, Hugh,” said Arthur. “If it rains hard we’ll want a fire to keep ourselves dry and warm.”

“Huh! guess you forget we’ve got to _eat_ in order to live,” said Billy, sarcastically. “I admire a nice camp fire as much as anybody; but the practical side of my nature always crops up, and to my mind the best result of a fire is what comes from it on to the table.”

It did not take them long to carry out Hugh’s suggestion. Indeed, the supply of fuel was not nearly as large as Billy would liked to have seen.

“Might do for a couple of meals,” he remarked reflectively, eying the heap, “and then there’s got to be some tall hustling, no matter what the weather says. I never could eat cold stuff, and enjoy it. But say, that wind is sure some corker. Like as not it’ll knock over a few of these tall pine trees.”

“As the lumbermen have picked off the best of them,” added Hugh, “it’s left gaps in the timber, so that the wind can get a full sweep. On that account I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if a lot of them did blow down, providing the storm becomes more furious.”

“Well, it’s sprung up mighty sudden, I tell you,” urged Billy, “and from that I reckon we haven’t seen the worst yet, by a jugful.”

Gus, with an expression of gloom on his face, was saying next to nothing. He sat, looking into the glowing fire. Undoubtedly the boy was severely disappointed. He had hoped to find his erring brother Sam in the bunk-house of the deserted camp, possibly sick or injured, but in a condition to be repentant, so that he would listen to reason. Now this wretched storm had chosen to come down on them, threatening to destroy the only clue they had concerning the new whereabouts of the two tramps.

Every time a wilder gust than ordinary would make the windows of the long cabin rattle and the trees outside writhe, poor Gus would start and look anxiously toward the door, which had been closed and barred. Arthur had seen to this latter precaution because there was more or less danger that the storm might blow the door open, and give them a rude shock at some time during the night.

Suddenly there came a new sound that caused every one to jump.

“Oh! what was that?” exclaimed Gus, turning pale with apprehension, for his nerves were far from steady.

“A tree went down, I guess,” ventured Arthur, grimly, and Hugh nodded as if he agreed with what the other had said.

“Not very far away from us, either, I’d wager,” remarked Billy, uneasily. “I only hope the next one doesn’t smash our roof in.”

“Small danger of that,” Hugh reassured him. “Those lumberjacks were too smart to take chances. The first thing they did was to fell every big tree close to their bunk-house, and for just that reason, though some people might think it was on account of laziness.”

The fact that Hugh was so self-possessed acted soothingly on the excited nerves of Gus and Billy. The scout master, realizing just how depressed Gus must be, skillfully turned the conversation once more in the direction of the two hiding tramps.

“According to my way of thinking,” he remarked, earnestly, “the fellow who is not sick must have discovered our car coming slowly along the lumber road, and when it was a good ways off. He would understand that we could only be meaning to strike for the old camp here, and that started him to thinking we might be coming to arrest himself and his pal.”

“Why, yes, Hugh,” Arthur took up the idea swiftly, “and it wouldn’t be the first time these khaki suits of ours had scared a fellow who had reason to fear arrest. It might be he actually believed we were a bunch of State’s troops sent out to round up all of his stripe.”

“Whee!” gasped Billy, falling in readily with the train of thought thus advanced, “I c’n just imagine how it affected him. He must have made hot tracks for the bunk-house here, and hustled the other tr—I mean hustled Sam away in a hurry. All I c’n say is that fortune played us a mean trick when that hobo saw us coming along.”

“It looks that way,” said Hugh, “but you never can tell. Lots of times in this world what seems like a misfortune is only a stepping stone to better things. I’ve heard Lieutenant Denmead, our esteemed scout master, tell of a number of things that happened to friends of his along those same lines.”

Of course the patrol leader was saying this partly to lighten the load poor Gus was staggering under. At the same time Hugh really did believe what he told them. It was the duty of a true scout, he argued, to always look on the bright side; no matter how things seemed to be going against him, they might be much worse.

Apparently the strange storm had not yet reached its apex, for as time wore on the racket outside increased instead of diminished.

“If this sort of thing keeps on all night,” grumbled Billy, “I c’n see a bunch of sleepy scouts along about daylight. Why, it’ll take us all of Thanksgiving to recuperate after our loss of rest. And how about that wild turkey somebody expected to bag so as to celebrate with? Huh! guess I was smart to make sure we’d have a half home-cured ham to boil. If it weren’t for me you’d starve!”

“Don’t worry, Billy,” Hugh told him. “We’re bound to get along fairly well. Besides, this is going to be an experience unlike anything we’ve ever struck in all our trips. Think of the lumberjacks who used to sleep in this place, and hear the roar of the wintry blizzard, being shut up for a week at a time by the drifts around them.”

“Huh! it may come to that with us yet,” grunted Billy, disconsolately. “When a storm like this strikes up it’s liable to turn into anything. Wish now I’d gone ’nd fetched my bully snow-shoes along with me.”

Then he took out pencil and paper and started figuring. Hugh guessed Billy must be portioning the supply of food out so as to discover just how long a party of their size could continue to hold body and soul together if reduced to extremes. As his employment afforded Billy more or less entertainment and did no harm Hugh made no effort to stop him.

Indeed, just then Hugh had other thoughts to employ his attention. He did not like the way things were going. They had planned for such a splendid time up in the timber belt, with headquarters in the abandoned lumber camp!

Louder grew the roar of the storm, causing Gus to almost jump with each terrible rush of the wind, or distant crash of a falling pine tree, unsupported since its taller and stouter mates had been cut down.

Suddenly without warning Gus gave a shriek that startled the others. They turned their eyes upon him, wondering if the poor fellow could be going out of his mind. But Gus was pointing with a trembling hand straight at one of the windows, and there pressed against the small pane of glass they could see a human face!