"There we are!" shouted Lalia, "and here we are—all dressed up and no place to duck! We can't reach the Mountain House. Let's make for that rock! It may afford some shelter."
Without thought of dissent Cleo and Grace followed their leader through the now pouring shower. The rain seemed almost solid, its sheets were so dense in the downfall, and the terrific peals of thunder, that echoed and rolled over the hills, gave such monstrous volumes of sound as only the big canyons between solid rocks emit. It seemed the stones themselves would be torn out from their pits in the frightful vibrations.
Already thoroughly drenched, the girls in scout uniform seemed scarcely better off than Lalia in her pretty gingham, the summer weight khaki of the skirts, and the soisette blouses shedding the heavy rain more readily, only because of the uniform straight lines and absence of frilly pockets to catch the "buckets'" spill. As for hats—the girls were utilizing these as shields, holding them at ever-swerving angles, to keep the blinding rain out of their eyes.
The big black rock with torrents of water how gushing down its furrows and rills, was reached at last and to the delight of the wayfarers it did offer shelter.
"Why, just see here!" exclaimed Grace, the first to reach port, "here is a cave. We said there ought to be caves in these mountains. And we can all fit in out of the storm. Isn't this wonderful?"
"Port haven in our story, surely," quoth Lalia, "I thought I knew these parts, but I never before discovered these Monte Cristo apartments. Shall we ring for the janitor?"
"Pray do not," replied Cleo, swishing her reservoir hat around to empty its contents. "Let us woo the wooseys undisturbed. I should like to dump the mud out of my boots!"
The rain on the uncovered rocks was still splashing, and a strong wind howling through the trees added to the din. Only at close range could the girls make their voices intelligible. But it was so good to be within shelter. Welcome indeed is any port in a storm.
"There must be more dugouts in this rock," Cleo said, attempting to survey the curved bowlder that formed a huge support for the cedars growing from its top, in a great swerving hedge, clear up into Second Mountain.
"But one is enough for us," Grace reminded her. Then a sound penetrated the now ceasing roar of the torrent. Voices surely, somewhere!