"The ground slopes a bit," observed Swaine, "so the water won't lodge. Hallo! I'm not so sure about it. Look here!"
A steady rivulet was finding its way in at the landward side of the hut. All hands hurriedly set to work to dig a runway to divert and keep under control what promised to be a healthy little mountain torrent.
In the midst of this operation Alec and his three companions arrived, drenched to the skin but nevertheless cheerful.
"Don't care if it rains ink," observed Claverhouse blithely. "We've secured the buses and removed the wings. Hope it doesn't blow too hard."
Even as he spoke there came a weird moaning noise from without, followed by a blow that shook the hut to its foundations. It was the preliminary announcement of a tropical hurricane. For full five minutes it lasted, creating a pandemonium of noises as the supple trees bent and groaned under the furious blasts.
[Illustration: JACK WAS PINNED PRETTY FIRMLY AGAINST THE CEILING]
"Lucky the trees keep off most of the wind," said Bobby, raising his voice to make himself heard above the din. "Suppose we shift some of those heavy cases and pile 'em against the windward side."
All hands, with the exception of the recently-arrived working-party, who were in various stages of deshabille, set to work with a will, until a fairly-solid barricade was constructed on either side of the door up to the level with the eaves.