"Tear things loose generally, if it hits anything," was the grim answer.
"Won't it be dangerous for the buildings at your home?" asked Frank, who had ranged up on the other side of his friend.
"It sure will—if it hits 'em. But that's the way with a cyclone. You never can tell just where it's aiming. It may pass off and not come near us at all. But from the looks of that cloud it seems to be headed right this way."
Billy turned in his saddle and looked back. The dark, low, funnel-shaped mass of vapor was undoubtedly nearer, and was coming on rapidly. The air had been quiet—too quiet in fact—and now the unnatural stillness was broken by a low, moaning sound, as if from some animal in pain. The horses started as they heard it, and quickened their pace.
"Steady, old boy, steady!" called Billy, soothingly, to his beast. "It isn't going to hurt you, old fellow."
The horse quieted down somewhat, but it was easy to see that he was alarmed. And his fear was conveyed to the horses ridden by Andy and Frank, for they cavorted about, and acted more like skittish young colts than staid cow ponies.
"Keep a firm rein," advised Billy. "Don't let 'em bolt with you or you might lose your seat, and it would be a hard job to catch 'em again with this storm coming up behind us. They'd bolt for the stable at top speed. Hold 'em in!"
"That's what," agreed Frank. It was rather curious to note how Billy took command of matters now, whereas, back East, and at the school, it had been the Racer boys who were in the van in every thing. But here they recognized that Billy knew more about what was best to be done than they did.
"Is it getting any nearer?" asked Frank, as he noted Billy looking over his shoulder again.
"I should say it was. This is going to be one of the worst storms we've had here. And we've had some ripping ones, too. Hark to that wind!"