"What do you make of the weather, Nat?" Joe Hartley turned to Nat Trevor as he spoke, and scanned the face of the young leader of the adventure-seeking Motor Rangers with some anxiety. But the stout and placid Joe's unwonted look of apprehension found no reflection on the firm countenance of Nat Trevor, who stood as steadily at the wheel of the Nomad as if that sixty-foot, gasolene-driven craft was not, to use Joe's phrase of a few moments before, pitching and tumbling "like a bucking broncho." "It does look pretty ugly for a fact, Joe," rejoined Nat, after he had scrutinized the horizon on every side. "And this is a part of the Pacific where we were warned before we left the Marquesas that we must look out for squalls," returned Joe, still looking worried. "Oh, well, the Nomad has weathered many a good hard blow, not to mention those waterspouts," commented Nat. "I guess she'll last through whatever is to come."