Not caring to stand still in such a downpour, the two started to skirt the pond, going in the opposite direction to that which they had before taken. They had to clamber over a number of rough rocks and through some brushwood heavily laden with water, so that by the time they reached the other side they were as wet as if they had taken an involuntary bath.
“Well, there’s one consolation,” announced Roger grimly. “We couldn’t get any wetter if we tried.”
“Come on. Let us leg it for camp as fast as we can,” returned Dave. “It’s pretty cold out here, drenched like this.”
“Wait a minute! I think I saw something!” cried the senator’s son suddenly. “Look!”
He pointed off to one side of the roadway, and both waited until another flash of lightning lit up the scene.
“The horses!”
They were right. There, not over a hundred yards away, stood the two runaway steeds, partly sheltered by several big trees. Their heads had been down, but now they suddenly came up as if in fresh alarm.
“Do you think we can catch them, Dave?” gasped the senator’s son.
“We’ve got to do it, Roger,” was the reply. “But be careful, or they’ll get away as sure as fate. Here, you approach them from the right and I’ll go around to the left. And don’t let them get past you, no matter what happens.”