“It is coming!” shouted the guide. “Hurry up, all of you.” And away he went faster than ever.
Oliver and Gus were close behind. Mr. Whyland brought up the rear. Another rush of wind followed, and then it seemed to grow black as night.
“We are going to catch it and no mistake!” exclaimed Oliver. “I wish we were out in the open once more.”
“Half a mile farther will fetch it,” cried Cottle.
He could say no more, for at that instant a flash of lightning fairly blinded them. Then came a deafening roar of thunder that lasted fully five minutes, followed by a perfect deluge of rain.
Oliver pulled his hat far down over his head and eyes, and buttoned his coat up tightly. But it was no use; in one minute he was soaked to the skin.
“Don’t stop!” called out Cottle during a brief lull. “We must get out of here if we wish to save our lives!”
Nobody replied; but every one understood the importance of his words.
Oliver’s mule was now getting winded, and the boy had great trouble in making him keep up the pace. He patted the animal and spoke encouragingly to him, but all to no purpose. In a moment more they had dropped behind.
“What is the trouble?” asked Mr. Whyland, slacking his pace.