“Huh! three miles ain’t a song when the old wind gets to blowing,” declared Step Hen. “Notice that it’s died out altogether now, fellers?”
“And getting pretty dark, too,” Giraffe added. “Looks to me like we might be in for a little cyclone. Wonder if they ever have ’em up here, like they do in Kansas.”
“Cyclone!” exclaimed Step Hen, “oh! my stars! and here we are without even a cyclone cellar.”
“We’ll try and find one,” said Thad, encouragingly, for he had been keeping his eyes around him a long time back, noting the formation of the ground, and drawing his own conclusions.
They were no longer walking steadily on. Thad had increased his pace to a run, and his comrades kept at his side, as though determined not to be left in the lurch.
The sounds from the rear had gradually increased in volume. The thunder was louder, and more ominous, as each dazzling flash of lightning made the timber around them stand out most distinctly; although after it had passed, the semi-gloom seemed more appalling than ever.
And that other threatening sound, could it be the wind playing havoc with the tall trees? Thad had from time to time noticed that they came upon a windrow of fallen timber, all the trees lying in one direction. This circumstance had told him once that in a great while the region at the foot of the Rockies was visited by a destructive storm.
Might not this one prove to be such, and throw down more of these giants of the woods?
Thad had to bear this in mind, along with many other things. Surely, if the storm proved to be so severe that trees were going to be uprooted and blown down, they wanted to be out of danger.
Step Hen was getting more and more excited.