Joe Bodley was as poor as Ned Talmadge was rich, yet the two lads were quite friendly.  Joe knew a good deal about hunting and fishing, and also knew all about handling boats.  They frequently went out together, and Ned insisted upon paying the poorer boy for all extra services.

Joe’s home was located on the side of the mountain which was just now wrapped in such dark and ominous looking clouds.  He lived with Hiram Bodley, an old man who was a hermit.  The home consisted of a cabin of two rooms, scantily furnished.  Hiram Bodley had been a hunter and guide, but of late years rheumatism had kept him from doing work and Joe was largely the support of the pair,—­taking out pleasure parties for pay whenever he could, and fishing and hunting in the between times, and using or selling what was gained thereby.

There was a good deal of a mystery surrounding Joe’s parentage.  It was claimed that he was a nephew of Hiram Bodley, and that, after the death of his mother and sisters, his father had drifted out to California and then to Australia.  What the real truth concerning him was we shall learn later.

Joe was a boy of twelve, but constant life in the open air had made him tall and strong and he looked to be several years older.

He had dark eyes and hair, and was much tanned by the sun.  The rowboat had been out a good distance on the lake and a minute before the shore was gained the large drops of rain began to fall.

“We are going to get wet after all!” cried Ned, chagrined.

“Pull for all you are worth and we’ll soon be under the trees,” answered Joe.

They bent to the oars, and a dozen more strokes sent the rowboat under a clump of pines growing close to the edge of the lake.  Just as the boat struck the bank and Ned leaped out there came a great downpour which made the surface of Lake Tandy fairly sizzle.

“Run to the lodge, Ned; I’ll look after the boat!” shouted Joe.

“But you’ll get wet.”

“Never mind; run, I tell you!”

Thus admonished, Ned ran for the old hunting lodge, which was situated about two hundred feet away.  Joe remained behind long enough to secure the rowboat and the oars and then he followed his friend.

Just as one porch of the old lodge was reached there came a flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder that made Ned jump.  Then followed more thunder and lightning, and the rain came down steadily.

“Ugh!  I must say I don’t like this at all,” remarked Ned, as he crouched in a corner of the shelter.  “I hope the lightning doesn’t strike this place.”

“We can be thankful that we were not caught out in the middle of the lake, Ned.”

“I agree on that, Joe,—­but it doesn’t help matters much.  Oh, dear me!” And Ned shrank down, as another blinding flash of lightning lit up the scene.

It was not a comfortable situation and Joe did not like it any more than did his friend.  But the hermit’s boy was accustomed to being out in the elements, and therefore was not so impressed by what was taking place.