They looked about for some place of refuge, such as a cave or overhanging rock. But luck was not with them that day. They had searched an hour under a sky that was rapidly becoming darker when suddenly a terrific hailstorm struck them.
“Quick!” gasped Joe, who was almost frantic. “We must find some place!”
“We’re not finding it,” returned his chum, who was taking the danger more lightly. “And I guess there’s nothing we can do but stay out here in the open and endure it.”
But a few minutes later Bob had become as serious as his friend. Hail as large as marbles was falling with a terrible velocity, striking the explorers’ faces dangerously. One lump caught Joe squarely on the nose, causing him to utter a cry of pain.
“This is awful!” he moaned, holding his hand in front of his eyes.
How long the storm would last they had not the faintest idea. Even Dr. Rander could express no opinion.
Doggedly they fought off the hail, which bruised and cut their faces and bodies. They wondered how the mules were standing it. Could the animals endure the terrific onslaught? Or would they become panic-stricken and plunge off the steep cliff?
After what seemed like hours, the hailstorm suddenly subsided and the sky began to lighten. Ten minutes later the surrounding mountains bore no evidence of the disturbance.
With the adventurers, however, it was a different matter. Their faces were cut in many places, and their clothing was torn. A more miserable-looking trio could hardly have been found.
“Get out the ointment,” directed Bob. “We’ll sure need plenty of it.”