Part 15 (2/2)
”It's better than being so raging hot,” said Paul. ”It makes my head ache to ride when it's so fearfully hot.”
”If it only don't rain,” returned Chet. ”We need it bad enough, goodness knows, but it has held off so long it might as well hold off twenty-four hours longer.”
”I doubt if we get rain just yet. It hasn't threatened long enough,”
replied his brother.
Before the two left the ranch they saw to it that every building was locked up tight, and an alarm, in the shape of a loaded gun, set to the doors and windows.
”That ought to scare would-be thieves away,” said Chet. ”They'll imagine somebody is firing at them.”
The rest for a couple of days had done Rush much good, and he made no work of carrying the two boys along the trail that led to the second foothills.
Long before noon they reached the hills, and here stopped for lunch.
”And now for the wonderful mine!” cried Chet. Then, happening to glance across the plains below, he added: ”Gracious, Paul! What is that?”
The attention of both young ranchmen was at once drawn to a round, black cloud on the horizon to the east. It was hardly a yard in diameter, apparently, when first seen, but it increased in size with great rapidity.
It was moving directly toward them, and in less than two minutes from the time Chet uttered his cry it had covered fully a third of the distance.
”From what I have heard I should say that was a cyclone cloud,”
exclaimed Paul. ”And still----”
”Who ever heard of a cyclone up here among the foothills,” returned Chet. ”I don't believe they ever strike this territory.”
”I certainly never heard of their doing so,” returned Paul. ”But still, you must remember, that cyclones are erratic things at the best.”
”It looks as if it were coming directly this way.”
”So it does, and I reckon the best thing we can do is to make tracks for some place of safety.”
”That is true. Come on!”
Both boys sprang into the saddle and started up the trail. Hardly had a hundred feet of the way been covered than a strange rush and roar of wind filled the air.
”It's coming,” shouted Paul. ”Quick, Chet, down into that hollow before it strikes us!”
He plunged into the basin he had designated, which was six or eight feet below the level of the trail and not over ten yards in diameter. Chet followed, ducking low as he did so, for already was the air filled with flying branches.
”None too soon!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Paul. ”Down, Rus.h.!.+”
Between them they managed to get the horse to lie down close to a wall of dirt and rocks. They lay near, waiting almost breathlessly for that awful time of peril to pa.s.s.
No one who has not experienced the dreadful effects of a cyclone can imagine it, be the description of it ever so fine. That strange rush and roar, that density of the air, accompanied by a feeling as if the very breath was about to be drawn from one's lungs, the flying debris, all unite to chill the stoutest heart and make one wonder if the next moment will not be the last.
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