The gale was now howling so that ordinary talk in the improvised cave could scarcely be heard, and Sing Lee, the Celestial cook, was howling his Chinese prayers at the top of his voice.
"Be quiet!" ordered Mr. Thornton, for the shrill tones of the Chinese were getting on Mrs. Thornton's nerves. "This will blow over in a minute more."
Hardly had he spoken, when there came a perceptible lull in the storm. The howling of the wind died down as does the whine of an electric fan when the current is shut off. In about two minutes there could be heard only the patter of the rain on the ground, and, a little later, this ceased. In all, the actual blow had not lasted five minutes.
"Well, see if you can get that door open now, Matt," ordered the ranchman. Once more the foreman tried, and with the help of one of the hands he managed to push the portal partly open.
"There's a beam wedged against it," he reported, but by shoving out his foot he managed to kick it away, and the door swung wide.
A flood of light streamed in, making the lantern grow pale and sickly. The dark cloud had passed, and the sun was out. It was a most wonderful transformation.
"Are—are there any of our buildings standing?" gasped Mrs. Thornton. "I'm almost afraid to look."
"Sure, they're all right," answered her husband, with a reassuring laugh. "I guess we only got the edge of the storm at that. The roof's off one of the pony sheds, but that's all. It was part of that which blew against the door. All hands out to take stock of damage," he ordered.
They hurried from the cyclone cellar. The storm had passed, doing comparatively little damage, and, as Mr. Thornton had said, probably one edge only had hit the ranch.
"Whew! That was a hot one!" cried Andy, as he looked off in the distance and saw the funnel-shaped cloud tearing away to do more damage elsewhere.