"Come on!" yelled Billy, as he led the way, through darkness almost as black as night now. The yellow glow had faded and the ink-hued cloud seemed to envelope everything. The rain was coming down in torrents, and Frank and Andy noticed that the wind had a circular motion, marking the true cyclone.
"Here we are!" yelled the ranch boy, and grabbing hold of Frank and Andy, he pushed them through the entrance to what looked like an old fashioned root-cellar, or dugout. It was a shelter partly under ground and partly raised, with sod and earth built over a wooden roof.
"My, boys! We were getting worried about you!" exclaimed a voice, and Frank, clearing his eyes from the dust that had blown into them, saw by a light of a lantern in the cyclone cellar that Mr. Thornton, his wife, and a number of the hands of the ranch had gathered in the place.
"Oh, we're all right," answered Billy confidently.
"This terrible storm!" cried Mrs. Thornton. "We were so worried about you, Billy! Where were you when it came up?"
"On our way home. But say, Uncle Richfield, I've got great news for you."
Before he could tell what it was there came a terrific crash, that sounded above the roar of the cyclone. Involuntarily everyone crouched low, though there could be no danger to them in the underground place.
"Oh, what was that?" cried Mrs. Thornton, clinging to her husband.
"I don't know," he answered, steadily. "But I hope it wasn't the house. See if you can get a glimpse of it, Matt."
The foreman tried to open the door of the cellar, but something had evidently blown against it. Tug as he would, it did not budge.