'Here comes the rain, Chippy,' he said. 'We'd better put our jackets on.' They did so, but the Raven shrugged his shoulders as if he was of the opinion that jackets would be but slight protection against the downpour now rushing upon them.
The thunder-shower was perhaps a couple of miles away, and marching across the country in a line as straight as if drawn with a ruler. A clump of pines stood out darkly against the white veil of the streaming rain. As the scouts looked, the pines were swallowed up, and the wall of water stalked swiftly on towards them.
They looked round, but there was not the faintest chance of gaining the least shelter. All round them the earth was covered with low-growing bushes; there was neither tree nor hedge nor fence to break the force of the torrential downpour. A mile in front the road topped the ridge and disappeared.
'There may be shelter beyond the ridge, Chippy,' cried Dick. 'Let's run for it.'
They ran, but in vain. Long before they gained the ridge the storm was upon them—first a few heavy drops, then a downpour which made the earth smoke again. In two minutes the scouts were wet to the skin, and the storm lasted twenty. Then it raced past them, hissing and roaring, and left them tramping down the farther side of the ridge, their boots full of water, and not a dry thread about them save for the blankets stowed in the waterproof haversacks.
When the rain passed away, the two scouts, who had been tramping steadily along without growling at the weather, stopped and looked at each other, leaning on their sticks.
'Well, Chippy,' laughed Dick, 'we look like a pair of drowned rats.'
'That's about it, Dick,' grunted the Raven, and tried to do a step or two of a dance. This set the water bubbling out over the tops of his shoes.
'We must dry ourselves somehow or other,' went on Dick. 'You know, B. P. says it's jolly dangerous to go on in your wet clothes.'
'Sat under a waggon wi' nuthin' on while he dried 'em when he'd been wet,' quoted Chippy.