“Well, it wasn’t my fault. How was I to know there had been a cloudburst up in the mountains?”
“It’s always a wise precaution—” Mr. Livingston started to say and then cut himself off. He finished: “Well, we’re lucky we didn’t lose the car, or at least damage it. The rain has almost stopped, too.”
In their wet clothes and shoes the Scouts were rather uncomfortable. At the first filling station, thirty miles farther on, they stopped, unpacked the luggage, and changed into dry clothing.
Walz fretted at the delay.
“It will be after dark before we get to Elks Creek,” he complained.
“Sorry,” Jack replied shortly. “Sometimes the shortest road is the longest way to a destination.”
“Real philosophical, aren’t you?” Walz asked, his lips curling.
To Jack, it was plain that the motel owner found it hard to hold his temper in check. Obviously he had no liking for the Scouts or Mr. Livingston and tolerated their company only to gain his objective. As for the Explorers, they now had even less respect for Walz than they had had before. His judgment, they thought, had been proven faulty. He was sullen, selfish, and, in addition, he had a cowardly streak.
After the rain, night came on fast. The Scouts would have preferred to camp, but Walz kept insisting that they push on to Elks Creek. Actually, it was 9:25 P.M. when the car finally pulled into that little mountainside hamlet. There was no suitable camp site, and for once the wearied Scouts had no enthusiasm about finding one.
Mr. Livingston suggested that they all spend the night at the town’s only hotel, an unimposing wooden structure.