“You bet I will,” promised Springer. Away from the island shot the canoe, propelled by all the vigor they could muster. Only a few rods had they paddled when there arose from the depths of the pines the mournful howling of a dog, which was drowned by another tremendous peal of thunder. Even this, however, could not spur them to put more strength into the paddle strokes, for already they were doing their best. Their one object, now, was to do their utmost to reach Pleasant Point before the storm should come upon them in all its fury, or at least to get as near the point as possible; for they knew that to be caught far from shore in the canoe while the open lake was being swept by such a burst of wind as often accompanies severe thunderstorms would be not only most uncomfortable, but, in all probability, extremely perilous. Between the thunder-claps they could hear afar in the mountains a low and ominous moaning, but even Sleuth turned no backward glance toward the black sky that seemed to shut down perpendicularly not far beyond the white cross that marked Lovers’ Leap. As yet, although the surface of the lake was broken and dark, there seemed little wind, save occasional puffing blasts of short duration. So intent were they upon their own business that it was some time before they perceived the small white sail of a boat somewhat to the right of their course. With each wind gust the sail filled and dipped, but between the puffs it was barely taut, and the boat, a tiny, punt-like affair, was moving slowly. Only one person could be seen, and he sat in the stern of the boat, steering. “That gent sure better hustle some,” observed Grant, “unless he’s anxious to get a proper ducking. If he has oars, he’s foolish not to use them. We’re traveling twice as fast as he is, and we’ll soon be passing him.” “A fellow might think him dud-deaf and dud-dumb and blind,” said Springer. “If he hears or sees the storm, he’s a chump not to get a move on.” Piper opened his lips to make a remark, but a jagged, hissing spurt of lightning caused him to duck involuntarily and hold his breath, awaiting the thunder that must follow. It came, crashing and flung back in reverberations from the mountains, and Sleuth shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “Next time I visit Spirit Island,” he declared, “I shall take special pains to make sure there’s no thunderstorm on tap.” “Nun-next time!” scoffed Phil. “I’ll bet there isn’t money enough to hire you to go there again.” “Speak for yourself, my friend,” retorted Sleuth, “and judge not the courage of others by your own cowardice.” “Cowardice! Bah! You were sus-scared almost stiff.” “But I didn’t run away.”