Benson threw back his head to listen, and the two boys did likewise. From a great distance came the rumble of thunder, echoing and re-echoing throughout the mountains. To the westward the sun was hidden by a dense mass of black clouds which grew more ominous each instant.
"The storm is coming, sure enough," muttered Joe. "What do you propose?"
"We'll ride on a bit, lad. It won't hit us right away. Come!"
The horses were urged forward at an increased speed, and soon they passed the patch of timber and came out to where a thick fringe of brush skirted a long, high cliff. The sky was now dark on every side, and the wind was rising with a dull, humming sound.
"We'll catch it in a few minutes!" cried Benson; and hardly had he spoken when the big drops came splashing down, hitting the broad leaves in the underbrush with resounding smacks.
The old scout continued to lead, and presently he turned to the left, where the cliff parted. Here was an opening, lined on either side with rocks and dirt, and a short distance further was the entrance to a cave of unknown depths.
"We'll stop here," said the old scout, leaping to the ground, followed by the boys. "This aint the best place in the world, but it's better than the open, in such a blow as is coming."
He was right about the blow—already the wind was rising, and hardly had the three led their horses into the cave, the entrance to which was over a dozen feet high, when there came a crashing through the timber left behind, which sent many a frail limb and sapling to the ground and carried the leaves and twigs in all directions.
"I'm glad we didn't stay in the woods!" cried Darry. "We'd be in danger of falling trees."
"And lightning too," added Joe. "Oh, my! look at that!" he continued, as a blinding flash lit up the heavens. "That must have struck somewhere."