Paul said nothing but when Chip started, he did likewise.
"Step keerful," whispered Slider. "Don't let your feet make a noise when you pull 'em out of the mud."
A low rumble of thunder muttered its way out of the west indicating more rain. As if to emphasize the menace of this, they heard Murky cursing to himself. He, too, was aware that further rain and storm boded no good to himself.
More softly still the boys came gradually up under the shelving sides of a great rock, that proved to be the termination of a chain of similar rocks which abutted from a ridge of low hills off to the northeast.
Beyond, on the other side of this last big boulder, they could still hear Murky–if it was Murky–renewing his attempts to make a fire. Under the shelving sides the boys had some shelter. But from the brighter glare on the other side they knew that the tramp had succeeded in starting his fire. Was he any better protected from the increasing rain than they?
For quite a time the two crouched, blanket over their shoulders, while the rain pattered harder and harder. Finally a slight shift of wind to the westward caused the rain to beat in on them more. They were very uncomfortable, squatting in the wet mould with their backs against the damp rocks.
"See what I got?" Paul held up something that Chip cautiously felt.
"Where did you get that?" Chip was astonished.
"I knew we had one at the camp. But I thought it was lost. But today I found it in one of our bags. When we started I managed to slip it into my pocket. We're only two boys, and Murky is a grown man. Why, you've got bruises on you now that he gave you–" Paul was showing a pistol.
"Hs-sh!" whispered Chip. "Not so loud. Lemme see that gun!"