“We don’t care whether we have a dry tent or not, now,” laughed Dan Dalzell, as the six boys made a break for cover.  “We’re soaking, anyway, and a little more water won’t hurt.”

“I’ll get a fire going in the stove,” Dick smiled.  “Soon after that we’ll be dry enough—–­if the tent holds.”

The stove was already in place, a sheet-iron pipe running up one of the tent walls and out through a circular opening in the canvas of the side wall opposite from the wind.

While Dick was making the fire, Tom Reade filled, trimmed and lighted the two lanterns.

“Listen to the storm!” chuckled Prescott.  “But we’re comfy and cheery enough.  Now, peel off your outer clothes and spread them on the campstools to dry by the fire.  We’ll soon be feeling as cheery as though we were traveling in a Pullman car.”

Within a short time all six were dry and happy.  The lightning had come closer and closer, until now it flashed directly overhead, followed by heavy explosions of thunder.

Not one of the boys could remember a time when it had ever rained as hard before.  It seemed to them as though solid sheets of water were coming down.  Yet the position of the tent, aided by the ditches, kept their floor dry.  Dan, peering out through the canvas doorway, reported that the ditches were running water at full capacity.

“This will all be over in an hour,” hazarded Greg.

“It may, and it may not be,” Dick rejoined.  “My own guess is that the storm will last for hours.”

As the howling wind gained in intensity it seemed as though the tent must be blown to ribbons, but stout canvas will stand considerable weather strain.

“If we had driven the wooden pins for the guy-ropes,” muttered Greg, “everyone of them would have been washed loose by this time.”

“They would have been,” Dick assented, “and the tent would now be down upon our heads, a drenched wreck.  As it is, I think we can pull through a night of bad weather.”

In an hour the flashes of lightning had become less frequent.  The wind had abated slightly, but there was no cessation of the downpour.

“I pity anyone who has to travel the highway in this storm,” muttered Dave.  “This isn’t weather for human beings.”

“Yet every bird of the air has to weather it,” observed Hazelton.

“Yes,” muttered Tom, “and a good many of the birds of the air will be killed in this storm, too.”

Night came down early.  The wind and rain had sent the temperature down until it seemed to the high school boys more like an October night.  The warmth and light in the tent were highly gratifying to all.

“As long as the tent holds I can’t think of a blessed thing we have to go outside for,” sighed Reade contentedly.

“We don’t have to,” laughed Dick.  “Fellows, we’re away off in the wilderness, but we’re as happy as we could be in a palace.  How about supper?”