“I’m going too,” said Sleuth huskily. “It’s ten to one this old hut comes down in the storm. I wouldn’t stay here, anyhow.” “I don’t reckon I would myself,” acknowledged Rod. “Then,” said Piper, tugging at him, “we’d better hustle. If I know Springer, he won’t stop this side of Camp Oakdale, and we don’t want to be left on this island with no way of getting off.” “That wouldn’t be pleasant,” confessed Rod, “though I don’t opine Phil would desert us. He’ll wait for us.” “Don’t you believe it,” spluttered Sleuth as they reached the open air. “If we want to stop him before he gets away with the canoe, we’ve got to make tracks.” Stumbling across the glade, they found the path, along which they dashed, Piper in advance. Reaching branches whipped them across their faces, and it seemed that the black thickets on every hand contained a thousand menacing terrors. True, Grant was not as frightened as Piper, but the moment he began running he was overcome to some degree by that fear-compelling sensation known to every boy who has fled in the dark from a menacing creation of his fancy. Occasional flashes of lightning served only to blind them and make the ensuing gloom seem deeper and blacker. The thunder-shocks beat upon their ears, but as yet no rain fell. Panting heavily, they came out suddenly upon the shore and realized they were some distance from the place where the canoe had been left. In his confusion and excitement Sleuth turned in the wrong direction, but Grant checked him by calling sharply: “This way, Piper—the canoe is this way!” “No,” said Sleuth, “you’re wrong; it’s this way.” But, fearing to be left alone on that terrible island, he turned and followed Rod. In a few moments they discovered Springer in the act of launching the canoe, and Grant shouted at him angrily. “What do you reckon you’re doing?” cried the exasperated Texan. “Are you trying to run away and leave us, you coward?” Phil’s face was almost ghastly, but he paused and waited for them. “I wasn’t gug-going away,” he declared. “It sure didn’t look like it!” retorted Rodney sarcastically. “I was just gug-going to get the canoe into the water and wait for you,” explained Springer. “I’m gug-glad you’ve come. It isn’t raining yet, and——” “But it will be right soon. We’re due to get a drenching if we start out.” “We’ll get a dud-drenching if we stay here.” “We might,” suggested Sleuth, with pretended bravado, “succeed in finding poor shelter beneath the thickest pines.” “And a sus-soaking on the water won’t be any worse than one on land,” argued Phil. “I was not thinking of the rain,” said Rod, casting a glance toward the black, lightning-torn clouds; “it’s the wind we’ve got to reckon on. We don’t want to be swamped out in the middle of the lake.” But now Piper joined Springer in urging him away, and, yielding, he got into the canoe and seized one of the paddles. “Lively!” he ordered. “Get in and push off. Show what you’ve got in your arms, Phil.”