Hardly daring to breathe, the four boys crawled through the brushwood until they reached something of a trail. They could see little, owing to the darkness, but managed to make fair progress.
“Thank fortune, we’re out of that!” exclaimed Jack presently. “Now we’ve got to see to it that they don’t catch us again.”
“Right-o!” answered Randy. Then, looking up at the sky, he continued: “See how dark it is—not a star showing. I think it’s going to rain.”
He was right, and in a few minutes more the first of the drops began to come down. Then came a dim flash of lightning, followed presently by a vivid streak across the heavens.
“We’re in for a regular thunder storm,” said Fred. “Gee, I hope the lightning doesn’t strike us.”
On and on went the boys, bumping into more than one tree and sometimes going headlong over the rocks. They had but one purpose in mind—to put as much space as possible between themselves and the Davenport gang.
At last, having moved along for over an hour and being soaked to the skin, they came to rest under the shelter of a rocky precipice. The storm continued, vivid flashes of lightning being followed by claps of thunder that echoed and re-echoed through the mountains.
“We’ve got to go on,” said Jack, at last. “As soon as daylight comes those fellows will be searching for us, and they’ll have a big advantage for they’ll be on horseback while we’ll be on foot.”
Forward they went again, although in what direction they did not know. They were hoping that they were getting farther and farther away from the cave where they had been held captive.