Mr. Somers' wisdom in selecting a boat with breadth of beam was now apparent. Had the "Rambler" been a narrow craft, the task which confronted the members of the club would have been attended with the gravest danger.  
Several of the boys, clutching for support, felt a thrill of apprehension² run through them, as the storm-tossed motor boat, which shipped water at every lurch³, ploughed its way toward the Trailers.
 
Voices could scarcely be heard above the roaring wind. Dick Travers and Sam Randall bailed⁵ energetically, though they were thrown down with considerable force more than once. Little Tom Clifton, prey⁶ to a terror he could scarcely control, held on for dear life, while Dick Brandon, surprisingly calm and collected, stood by the engine, foreseeing that his services would be required.
 
The outline of the "Nimrod" became more distinct. She was tossing about like a chip, and her crew seemed to have become totally panic-stricken.
 
"Help!" again roared Nat, holding on with one hand, while with the other he grasped the megaphone. "We're almost full of water, and haven't a thing to bail⁴ with."
 
The "Pirates" looked anything but a brave lot, as they huddled⁷ together. Their faces were blanched⁸, and, drenched⁹ to the skin, they presented a sorry spectacle. The "Nimrod" seemed helpless, and at the mercy of every wave.
 
Bob Somers saw at a glance that they were, indeed, in a serious position, rendered far more so by their inability to act with any degree of calmness.
 
"Give us some buckets, if you have any, quick!" yelled Nat; "or our boat will be at the bottom of the lake in no time."
 
The thunder and lightning still continued with unabated force, while the deluge¹⁰ showed no signs of stopping. Wind and waves made the task of approaching the "Nimrod" an extremely difficult one. All of Bob's resourcefulness was needed, but he managed the "Rambler" skilfully¹¹. Randall and Travers stood at the rail with a couple of buckets when, at imminent¹³ peril¹⁴ of crashing into the "Nimrod," the other boat passed close to windward.
 
John Hackett managed to seize one bucket, the other being successfully tossed on board.
 
"Start your motor and then go ahead, facing the storm!" shouted Bob, at the top of his voice.
 
"Don't go away!" yelled Kirk Talbot.
 
"All right, we'll stand by you."
 
A moment later, Nat Wingate was seen crouching¹⁵ down at the wheel. Amidst clouds of spray that dashed over him, he tugged¹⁶ first one way and then the other, but it did not appear that any move had been made to start the engine.
 
"Throw them a line," ordered Bob, quickly.
 
The boats, however, were drifting apart, and Sam Randall's first attempt was not successful. Again and again he tried. Bob Somers, in spite of the risk, came to his aid by stopping the "Rambler," and within a few minutes Nat Wingate was able to seize the rope that came flying through the air.
 
It was made fast, the motor again started, and the "Nimrod" gradually drawn¹⁷ around until its bow was pointed¹⁸ directly toward the oncoming waves.
 
The frantic¹⁹ energy with which its crew was working with the buckets would have been amusing under other circumstances. It soon became apparent that the situation was not going to grow any worse, but the boats were still plunging²⁰ violently, and, at intervals²¹, large waves poured over the rails.
 
For fully¹² fifteen minutes the storm continued in all its fury. Just as the rain began to slacken, and there was a lull²³ in the heavy gusts²⁴, John Hackett threw down his bucket and shouted to the Ramblers.
 
"Hello!" he cried. "If this old boat didn't swallow nearly half the lake, I'm wrong in my calculations."
 
The speaker looked as if his attempt at humor had caused him a pretty hard effort.
 
"It was all on account of the wheel getting jammed," added Nat, ruefully. "But for that, we wouldn't have been in such a mess."
 
The storm ended as suddenly as it began. Before the rain had entirely²⁵ ceased, a patch of blue was seen in the west. Half an hour later, the sun was shining on a far-off bank of clouds, while the two boats were gently rising and falling on the rounded swells²⁶.
 
The Ramblers suffered no ill effects from their wetting, thanks to the oilskin coats, but the others presented a sadly bedraggled spectacle.
 
"Did you ever hear of such mean luck?" growled²⁷ Nat. "I wish I could interview the man who got up this steering²⁸ gear."
 
"Little fishes, but I am wet!" exclaimed Kirk Talbot, with a doleful smile.
 
"We ought not to kick about that," protested Ted¹ Pollock. "If Bob Somers hadn't come along you might be at the bottom of the lake and wetter than you are now. The way we got thrown around was about the worst that ever happened."
 
The two boats lay to. Bob and his companions set about putting things to rights. Swabs were brought out and before long the "Rambler" resumed its former spick and span appearance.
 
The members of the Nimrod Club were fully aware of the fact that a great service had been rendered them, and they all expressed their appreciation²⁹ of it, Nat, however, sandwiching his remarks between numerous growls³⁰ and complaints, while tinkering at his wheel with an enormous wrench³¹.
 
From odd scraps³² of conversation, the Ramblers managed to learn that their rivals had bought a box of canned goods in town, and that Nat, carrying it from one place to another, just as the storm broke, had slipped and let it drop. Nat tried to get his companions to stop talking, but they did not seem to realize the necessity for keeping the facts secret.
 
"Bump-bang!" exclaimed John Hackett, at length. "Maybe if it hadn't been for the wheel, Nat, that box would have gone clean through the bottom of the boat."
 
Nat Wingate, with a very red face, arose, holding a spoke³³, which the wrench, instead of straightening, had broken off. Without a word, he started the motor, and it was presently seen that the "Nimrod" had been restored to a serviceable condition.
 
"Our friends don't seem to be in a pleasant humor, Chubby," remarked Bob, with a smile, as Nat was heard angrily explaining to Hackett that any more funny remarks would result in trouble.
 
"Those chaps are only good-natured when they have everything their own way," said Sam Randall, with a laugh.
 
The "Rambler," having been put in motion, was soon skirting the point of land. Upon rounding it, the entrance to a bay was disclosed, there being a fine stretch of beach along one side and a strip of woods beyond.
 
"Bob, don't you think that looks like a good place to camp?" suggested Sam Randall.
 
"Yes! We might as well tie up for the night," replied Bob.
 
A gentle hill began a short distance back from the water, and, after landing, the boys lost no time in climbing it. They found that a dense³⁵ forest extended, with but few breaks, in all directions.
 
It seemed that the Trailers had kept a careful eye on their movements, for, upon returning to the boat, a familiar voice was heard.
 
"My little salts!" yelled Nat, as the "Nimrod" lazily slipped through the water of the bay. "Are you fellows going to stay in this place for the night?"
 
Bob answered in the affirmative, and the others, without having anything further to say, continued on their course.
 
&qu............