"Mebby they're struck," suggested Stacy.
"Mebby they are," replied Nance. "Come, we'll be getting back unless you want to get wet."
A dash of rain followed almost instantly upon the words. The three started at a trot for the camp. They found the Professor and his two companions anxiously awaiting their return.
"That was a severe bolt," said the Professor.
"Always sounds louder down here, you know," replied Dad. "Echoes."
"Yes, I understand."
"Is—-is it going to rain?" questioned Walter.
"No, it's going to pour," returned Chunky. "You'll need your rubber boots before long."
"Move that camp fire in further," directed Nance. "It'll be drowned out in a minute."
This was attended with some difficulty, but in a few minutes they had the fire burning brightly under the ledge. Then the rain began. It seemed to be a cloudburst instead of a rain. Lightning was almost incessant, the reports like the bombardment of a thousand batteries of artillery, even the rocks trembling and quaking. Chunky's face grew pale.