do--and doesn't come near it in summer. The
reason I think so is because the tools have all been taken away."

Ned's supposition was probably correct. At all events the boys did not
scruple to make a blazing fire in the stove, and very pleasant the
warmth felt after their long tussle with the storm.

Ned was soaked through and through in spite of his rubber coat, but
Randy was only wet to the middle. They stood as near as possible to the
stove, and so powerful was the heat of the wood fire, that in half an
hour their clothes were entirely dry.

It was rather a risky undertaking, but both lads were hardy and vigorous
and had no fear of taking cold.

As the fire burnt itself out the pale light of day shone through the
windows. Friday morning had dawned.

"Still raining a little," said Ned, "and the sky is cloudy. We must
start up the creek without delay now. My mind will feel a good deal
easier when I know that Clay and Nugget are safe. They must be feeling
pretty wretched if they stayed on the island all night in the rain."

"I don't think they would venture to leave after the directions you gave
them," returned Randy. "Unless the island became flooded. I never
thought of that before."

Ned walked quickly to the side window and looked out.

"The water is still on the rise," he said gloomily. "It is backing into
the wasteway and crawling up the slope toward the mill. You can hardly
see anything of the dam. To tell the truth, Randy, I believe the creek
is quite high enough to cover that island."

Randy turned pale.

"What has become of the boys then?" he asked. "Could they have passed
down the creek while we were drying ourselves?"

"Hardly," said Ned. "You forget the dam. But pull on your coat and
we'll be off. It's not raining enough to hurt us."

Randy hastily obeyed, and after satisfying themselves that the lingering
embers of the fire could do no damage, the boys went down the shaking
flight of steps to the lower floor. With great care they crossed the
rotten planks, and were half way to the door when a burly figure
darkened the threshold--a roughly dressed man with a gun on his shoulder
and a partially filled grain sack in his hand.

The boys stood still, half frightened, half astonished, but the stranger
came quickly forward, lowering his gun as he did so.

"Good morning, my lads," he said in a gruff, mocking voice, "so the
storm has driven you to my humble retreat. You are welcome--quite
welcome.