“Sometimes these creeks come up fast,” Walz explained carelessly. “The mountains feed the streams at a terrific rate, especially if there’s been a heavy downpour above.”
“Cheerful thought,” commented Ken, studying the clouds again.
“I’ve read of cars being swept away,” Mr. Livingston remarked. “Maybe we should have taken the other road.”
Walz regarded him scornfully. “Why, the creeks are bone dry.”
“They won’t be for long,” Mr. Livingston replied. “It’s starting to rain.”
Huge drops splashed the windshield. Faster and faster they came down. Mr. Livingston suggested pulling up until the rain was over.
“That may be an hour,” Walz rasped. He was looking worried. “This is coming down like a regular cloudburst. If we don’t get through this area, we’ll be trapped maybe for half a day between creeks.”
The Scouts said nothing. They were deeply annoyed, however, that the motel owner by his stubborn insistence had brought them to this sorry situation. Mr. Livingston hesitated and then decided to accept Walz’ advice. He drove on.
Rain was already falling so fast that it became difficult for him to see the road ahead.
“This is awful!” the Scout leader gasped. “We ought to stop—”