They went stumbling along through the woods, with Arthur bringing up the rear, as he did not seem to be quite as expert at this sort of thing as the balance of the scouts. Evidently Hugh was taking them on the back trail, because presently Billy recognized a fine white birch that he had marked down when passing, meaning to come back one of these days and strip that splendid mottled bark from its trunk, for some purpose he had in mind.
This fact told him that Hugh must have noticed some feature of the landscape, as he was always keeping his eyes about him, that offered a bare chance of safety from the storm that was chasing after them so swiftly.
“It’ll have to bob up mighty quick, then,” Billy was saying to himself, as he felt the first drop of rain splash against his neck, “for we are going to get it like cats and dogs right away. Hello! where’s Arthur?”
The thunder had been rolling just before, but ceased in time for Hugh to hear this last startled exclamation from Billy. He instantly stopped short in his tracks, and the three scouts came together in a bunch.
“Arthur! Whooee!” shouted Billy.
A rather faint voice answered him from back on the trail.
“Here I am; got caught by the ankle, and had all the breath knocked out of me! Go along, and leave me to look out for myself, fellows!”
“Not much we will,” said Hugh, as he immediately started back again on the run. “We Wolves stick together, come what will. Sink or swim, we never desert a comrade, do we, boys?”
“I guess not,” added Billy, and then quailed as a fierce flash dazzled his eyes; “but this settles it for our dry suits. We’re up against it, all right, boys!”
They quickly reached the place where their unlucky chum was sitting up, trying to work his foot loose from the grip of the vine that had caught him fast. Perhaps Arthur would have succeeded in doing this in due time; but he was out of breath now, and trembling so with excitement that he did not seem able to go at the job the right way.