Jerry Utway lay in his bunk, fully dressed, for about an hour after Taps had summoned the campers to slumber. The storm had settled to a steady drumming torrent that would probably persist far into the next day. The sides of the tents had been lowered and fastened to the floor by their grommets, to afford the fullest protection from the blast. An occasional flash of lightning, accompanied by a crack of booming thunder, lit up the familiar tent at intervals. Jerry shivered slightly as he stretched out in his blankets and listened to the furious tattoo of drops on the tent-fly over his head. He would have liked a less tempestuous night for their expedition, but dawn would put an end to their hopes unless they moved speedily.
105

At last he judged it safe to make his getaway, and with infinite patience crawled into his boots and poncho, and shielding his flashlight, crept out into the night. The vicinity of the campus was black as pitch. Jerry felt his way through dripping underbrush, in order to avoid disturbing any sleeper. He found Jake by the flagpole, and without a word the two brothers stumbled down to the boat-dock.

On the unprotected platform of the dock they felt upon their wet faces the full power of the storm. Wicked-sounding waves swirled through the piles on which the dock was built; the little fleet of rowboats rocked and pounded each other at their moorings.

“Don’t put on your light,” cautioned Jake hoarsely. “That prison guard may still be patrolling over across, and if he happened to spot us, the game would be over. We’ll have to take a boat—we couldn’t get a canoe launched in this water to-night.”

“You untie a boat and pull it around in the lee of the dock, while I get the oars.”

In a few moments Jerry returned with the precious oars, and they were shoved into the locks of the boat Jake had selected. Before putting off, it was necessary to bail out the pool of rain-water that splashed in the bottom of the craft, and this Jake did, using his sou’-wester hat as a bail. When the duckboards beneath their feet no longer floated, the brothers cast off, seized the oars, and headed about on their second crossing that night.
106

“Head straight across!” ordered Jerry. “I figure that if we keep right into the teeth of the wind, we’ll come out at that pile of logs straight across, where the deer-trail comes down to the lake. Heave!”

Keeping the full sweep of the wind at their straining backs, the twins worked the oars with a heaving, united swing. Spray dashed over the bows and drenched their rubber garments; the rolling boat pitched and dived as they met one white-capped wave after another, head on. The dim structure of the diving-tower and the shore beyond faded swiftly into the gloom; but after fifteen minutes of labor they had no other evidence that their craft had made any progress in the direction they wished to take.

“Don’t quit!” grunted Jake. “Heave!”

Several times the bows were swept around and they took water broadside over the low gunwale before a frantic effort on the part of one or the other could swing them on their course again. It seemed to both laboring boys that hours had passed.
107

Bump! The stem of the small vessel crashed against some unseen obstruction, nearly throwing the young mariners headlong on to the floor-boards. Both clung to their oars, and a wave lifted the boat from its precarious position.

“We rammed the top of a sunken log!” called Jerry, who was nearest the bow. “I think it may be part of that big jam we headed for. Any idea where we are?”

“As I remember, the deer-trail is down to the right a few hundred yards. What do you say we skim along offshore and try to find it?”

“Good! Boy, I’m glad that’s over!” Jerry was breathing heavily from his exertions. He pulled on his oar, shoved off from the dark mass of piled logs an arm’s length away, and the boat began skirting the dimly-seen shoreline.
108

They had made the crossing in a Stygian darkness, but now the thunder again commenced its ominous cannonade. An opportune bolt of heaven-sent fire gave them a momentary glimpse of the shore on their port side, and told them what they wanted to know. Jake made out the muddy delta where, he remembered from a previous visit, the deer-trail began. Before the gloom closed in again, he pulled about and began stroking madly toward this landing. A thought struck him like a chill hand. Had a pair of terrified eyes spotted their boat from the black shelter of the trees? ............