"Ha--there she is!" exclaimed Ralph, discovering the object of his
search. "I almost knew the man as put up this kiln must have had a
shelter of some kind."
He made his way to a low, brush covered frame near by, arriving there
just in time. The darkness was intense, except when cloven by the
lightning, while the fall of rain was drenching and furious.
The shack leaked some, but it was an immense improvement over a tree
for shelter.
"Let's see where we are, anyhow," said Ralph, producing some matches,
one of which he struck. "Hello! There are some pine knots. Here's
luck at last."
In a few minutes he had a small fire blazing brightly, and felt more
like contemplating his surroundings with cheerful equanimity.
But as the rain increased, the leaks grew in number, threatening to put
out the fire, and converting the earth floor into a mushy mud puddle.
"I can't do any sleeping here," thought he. "Might just as well make
up my mind for a night of it round this fire."
By dint of careful watching he kept his fire from going entirely out,
and managed to keep himself dry by picking out the spots where the
leaks were fewest in which to stand.
But it was a dreary, lonesome time. The wind whistled dolefully
through the pines, and the rain splashed unmercifully upon the bark and
boughs of the shack.
After each flash of lightning, sharp peals of thunder added their harsh
echoes, until Ralph's ears ached, used as he was to mountain storms.
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