There was no means of knowing. They were somewhere on the slope of Dismal Mountain, out in the storm and darkness, seeking unknown enemies and being sought by them.
For a little while after leaping from the car the two young men remained in the vicinity of it. They could see its bulk looming over the tops of the bushes by the glare of lightning flashes. Taking advantage of this intermittent light, they now began to circle about, trying to locate the man or men who had fired at them.
But the ambuscaders were playing safe, and did not show themselves. Tom and Ned skirted around, soon becoming soaked to the skin.
Finally Tom, who was in the lead, saw by one long, bright flash a sort of shelter where a group of big oaks grew amid some rocks.
"Let's put in over there," he proposed to Ned. "We'll be a little drier than out here."
"Dry!" chuckled Ned good-naturedly. "I'll be wet for a week after this soaking."
It was somewhat better in the shelter, and the two adventurers stood there a few minutes, listening to the storm. Their situation was anything but safe or comfortable. For it could not be said what moment they might be seen by their enemies and fired on again.
Presently, above the racket of the storm, they heard voices in conversation. Then, during a lull in the outburst of the elements, several persons could be heard tramping through the underbrush and approaching the rocks.
"They're coming!" whispered Ned, grasping his automatic.
"I think they haven't seen us," murmured Tom. "Keep still. Stoop down and maybe we can hear what they are saying."