ing showed the tent from the road
as Ripley, armed with the club, drew nearer to it.

Fred halted. "They're all asleep, the muckers!" he muttered.
"I'm glad of that. Where is that dog? Why doesn't he come around?
I'm ready for him now."

Fred stole stealthily along, keeping a sharp lookout for the bull-dog.

Suddenly the sky was rent by a vivid flash of lightning so glaring
that the lawyer's son covered his eyes with his hands.

Bang! Crash! Almost instantly the thunder followed the flash.

"It's time to be getting out of here if I don't want to get drowned
on the way back to the hotel," Ripley decided. "I'll have to
postpone getting square with Prescott. Besides, the storm will
waken those fellows and I don't want to be caught here."

There came another flash, that descended near the water. The
crashing noise of the thunder came at the same instant.

Fred, facing the tent, saw the bolt strike the ridge pole. Evidently
the current ran down one of the poles, for he saw the bluish white
electric fluid running over the ground, coming from inside the
tent. The tent sagged, then fell.

"Gracious!" shivered this evil traveler of the night. "It will
be a wonder if that bolt didn't stretch them all out. I wonder
if it killed Dick Prescott and his crowd?"

Uncontrollable curiosity seized upon Fred. Turning about he ran
toward the tent. Violently he tugged at the canvas. As he lifted
it another sharp flash showed him the six Gridley High School
boys lying motionless in a row.

"The lightning did finish them!" gasped young Ripley, overcome
with fright and awe.

CHAPTER XXII

FRED IS GRATEFUL---ONE SECOND!

For some moments Fred Ripley stood there, spellbound, regarding
the still figures of Dick & Co. with fascinated fear.

Most of the time he stood in darkness, but as the flashes of lightning
came he again saw the six motionless figures. Even the fearful
crashes of thunder failed to arouse the sleepers.

"Oh, this is grewsome!" gasped Ripley at last, the coward in him
coming to the surface strongly. "I can't stand this any longer!"

Unconsciously he spoke aloud, his voice rising to a wail. Then
as he let the folds of canvas fall, a voice inside called angrily:

"Quit that! I want to get out."

It was Dave Darrin's voice, and Dave was the quickest-tempered
one of the six boys.

Fred knew that it behooved him to get away from the spot at once.
There was a wriggling under the canvas