Tom Slades Double Dare | Page 3

"If there's anybody up there, I hope he has an
umbrella."
But of course there was no one up there. For weeks the tiny light away
up on the summit of that mountain wilderness had puzzled the scouts of
camp. They had not, indeed, been able to determine that it was a light;
it seemed rather a tiny patch of brightness which was always brighter
when the moon shone. This had led to the belief that it was caused by
some kind of natural phenomena.
The scouts fixed their gaze upon it, watching it curiously for a few
moments.
"It isn't a reflection, that's sure," said Roy, "or we wouldn't see it on a
night like this."
"It's a phosphate," said Pee-wee.
"It's a chocolate soda," said Roy.
"You're crazy!" Pee-wee vociferated. "Phosphate is something that
shines in the dark."
"You mean phosphorus," said Westy Martin.
That seemed a not unlikely explanation. But the consensus of opinion
in camp was that the bright patch was the reflection of some powerful
light in the low country on the opposite side of the mountain.
"It's a mystery," said Pee-wee, "that's what it is."
Suddenly, while they gazed, it went out. They watched but it did not
come again. And the frowning, jungle-covered, storm beaten summit
was enshrouded again in ghostly darkness. And the increasing gale beat

the lake, and the driven rain assailed the few stragglers on the veranda
with lashing fury. And across the black water, in that ghoul-haunted,
trackless wilderness, could be heard the sound of timber being rent in
splinters and of great trees crashing down the mountainside.
Suddenly a word from Westy Martin aroused them all like a cannon
shot.
"Look!" he shouted, "Look! Look at the springboard!"
Every one of them looked, speechless, astonished, aghast, at the sight
which they beheld before their very eyes.
CHAPTER II
THE BRIDGE
There, just below them was the springboard an inch or two above the
surface of the lake. Ordinarily it projected from the shore nearly a yard
above the water, but lately the swollen lake had risen above it. Now,
however, it was visible again just above the surface.
This meant that the water had receded more in an hour than it had risen
in a whole week. The strong wind was blowing toward the pavilion and
would naturally force the water up along that shore. But in spite of the
wind the water in the lake was receding at an alarming rate. Something
was wrong. The little trickle from the spring up behind the camp had
grown into a torrent and was pouring into the lake. Yet the water in the
lake was receding.
Down out of the mountain wilderness across the water came weird
noises, caused no doubt by the tumult of the wind in the intricate
fastnesses and by the falling of great trees, but the sounds struck upon
the ears of the besieged listeners like voices wild and unearthly. The
banging of the big shutters of the pavilion was heard in echo as the
furious gale bore the sounds back from the mountain and the familiar,
homely noise was conjured into a kind of ghostly clamor.

"There goes Pee-wee's signal tower," a scout remarked, and just as he
spoke, the little rustic edifice which had been the handiwork and pride
of the tenderfoots went crashing to the ground while out of the woods
across the water came sounds as of merry laughter at its downfall.
"Something's wrong over on the other side," said Westy Martin of
Roy's patrol; "the lake's breaking through over there."
Scarcely had he uttered the words when all the scouts of the little group
were at the railing craning their necks and straining their eyes trying to
see across the water. But the wind and rain beat in their faces and the
driving downpour formed an impenetrable mist.
As they withdrew again into the comparative shelter of the porch they
saw a young fellow standing with his bare arm upraised against the
door-jam, watching and listening. This was the young camp assistant,
Tom Slade. He had evidently come out to fasten the noisy shutters and
had paused to contemplate the tempest.
"Some storm, hey, Tomasso?" said Roy.
"I think the water's going out through the cove," said Tom. "It must
have washed away the land over there."
"Let it go, we can't stop it," said Roy.
"If it's running out into the valley, it's good-night to Berry's garage, and
the bridge too," said Tom.
The young assistant was popular with the boys at camp, and struck by
this suggestion of imminent catastrophe, they clustered about him,
listening eagerly. So loud was the noise of the storm, so deafening the
sound of rending timber on that gale-swept height before them, that
Tom had to