There was no succeeding shock. After that one crash there came a silence. Birds that had been singing in the trees flew wildly away, but their songs were hushed. Here and there an animal could be seen dashing away, or slinking through the underbrush, as though half dazed by the concussion.
Presently it was seen, much to the relief of Frank and Bob, who were doing their best to assist, that the cattle had been held. They were moving in a big circle, “milling” after the most approved methods of the range, and doing it in spite of the limited open space at the command of the cowboy band.
“That danger is past, anyhow,” Frank remarked, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
“But we may have another shock, Frank,” said Bob, nervously, as he looked upward toward the peak of Thunder Mountain. “They say these things never go singly; and the first shake isn’t always the hardest of the lot, either. But I don’t see any smoke hanging over the cap up there, Frank!”
“Smoke?” echoed the other boy, looking puzzled.
“Why, yes; there’s always a lot of it, you
know, when a volcano starts to knocking things around,” Bob went on.
It was a strange time to laugh, but all the same Frank seemed unable to keep from doing it.
“So that’s the idea you’ve got, is it, Bob?” he demanded.
“Sure it is, and from what I heard some of the boys call out, I reckon I’m not the only one to believe it,” Bob made answer, without hesitation.