Half an hour later, without any warning, the rain started in again in a fashion that almost took their breath away. It came down in torrents, so that they could see scarcely a yard ahead of them, and made such a racket, besides, that Bob called a halt.
“Look here,” he gasped, “we can’t see nor hear anything, and this track isn’t a healthful place for us; a train could come along and knock us into the next county without our getting so much as a hint of it.”
They were at the beginning of a little cut, where the track had been built through a wooded hill.
“Gee!” sputtered Tom, and stumbled down the embankment to the side of the track. The others followed. The raindrops lashed their rubber ponchos, drenched their heads, and trickled down their backs. Barry, with what remained of his tail tucked as far under him as it would go, sought shelter from the pelting drops at Dan’s feet.
“Let’s break for cover!” shouted Nelson.
They broke. Nelson led the way, stumbling along what at one time had been an embankment, on which a spur track had run a few hundred yards to a gravel quarry. The quarry had become almost obliterated with underbrush and trees, and it was under one of the largest of the latter that the Four finally drew up, panting. The hill rose abruptly behind them, but the sheets of rain were so dense that they could make out but little of their surroundings. The tree, a young maple with wide-spreading branches, kept the worst of the torrent off them for the moment.
“These ponchos are all very nice,” said Dan, “but they have their limitations. I’ll bet you’d get six gallons of water out of me if you wrung me. Can’t we find a better place than this? The roof’s leaking, and the merry little raindrops are playing tag down my back.”
“How far do you suppose we are from Beach Neck?” asked Nelson.
“At least a mile,” answered Bob. “You fellows stay here a minute, and I’ll look around and see if there isn’t a better shelter.”