off toward the southwest. Upon
looking in that direction himself he burst out with an exclamation:

"It's going to strike us this time, boys, as sure as anything!"

"What another irate farmer?" cried Josh, laughingly. "Whatever have the
scouts been doing this time to raise trouble? We've been accused of
trespassing, and stealing chickens; p'raps they'll try to make out we
have evil designs on some country bank."

"It looks like a storm," admitted Tom; upon which Billy Button began to
stare at the clouds in plain sight, and Horace seemed to be listening
anxiously to catch the first distant mutter of thunder in the air.

"If you are all through eating," said Mr. Witherspoon, "perhaps we had
better move out of this. I'm not the best judge of such things, but I
think we could find a better spot than this to stay during the storm."

"There! listen to that, will you?" exclaimed George as they heard a
heavy boom that seemed to throb on the heavily charged air like the
roar of a monster siege gun.

Horace was looking a little pale, though he set his teeth hard
together, and apparently had made up his mind to at least refrain from
showing the white feather, no matter how frightened he felt.

They did up their packs, keeping the rubber ponchos out, according to
the advice of the patrol leader.

"At the worst we can put our heads through the slit in the center," he
explained to them; "and then it serves as a waterproof to keep the
upper part of you dry. But perhaps we can find an overhanging shelf of
rock under which all of us can crawl."

"But how about that fine big tree yonder, couldn't we take shelter
under that?" asked Horace, pointing to a massive oak with
wide-spreading branches that made a canopy through which even a
downpour of rain could hardly penetrate.

"Never!" Tom told him hastily. "A tree standing apart like that is
always one of the most dangerous places you can select when seeking
shelter from an electrical storm. Far better stay out and take your
little soaking than to take chances in a barn, or under an isolated
tree. In the forest it is not so bad, where there are hundreds of
trees; but then you ought to be careful which one you select. Lightning
loves a shining mark, you know."

"But that big tree has stood for one or two hundred years and never
been hit by lightning," objected Horace, who could not understand
exactly.

"So have others that I've seen shattered to fragments," Mr. Witherspoon
to