“I wish Mul-tal-la was here,” was the thought of Victor, who began to feel uncomfortable; “he would know the meaning of that, which is more than I know.”
He still believed the uproar was caused by wind, though of a more violent nature than any yet noted by him. A whirlwind, a hurricane, or what in these times is called a cyclone, may have been born among the mountains, and would soon be careering over the prairies with terrific might. If such proved the fact, Victor could think of nothing to do; for, though he and his brother fled, they would be as liable to run into the vortex or centre of disturbance as to be caught where they were.
His alarm, however, led him to hurry to the side of George and awaken him. The latter was on his feet in an instant, startled by the terrifying noise, which had aroused the other horses, who also arose and showed signs of fear. Before the two could exchange more than a few words the darkness was pierced by the voice of the Blackfoot from some point on the other side of the valley.
“Make haste, brothers! Flee to the highest land you can reach!”
“That means a cloudburst!” exclaimed George. “That is what the black cloud did. The valley will be a rushing torrent in a few minutes!”
The words were yet in his mouth when the roar of the brook a little way off was heard. The forerunner of the flood was sweeping down the valley and would be quickly followed by a Niagara of water.
The boys ran to the horses and began with desperate haste to make them ready for flight. The goods on hand were too valuable to be lost. Saddles and bridles were hurriedly adjusted in a slipshod fashion, and then both bent their energies to replacing the packs upon Zigzag, who won the gratitude of the brothers by acting as if he understood the danger and was eager to give all the help he could. He stood motionless while with nervous, trembling hands the two fixed the bulky bundles in position.
“It’s here!” called out Victor, who felt the water about his ankles and rapidly rising. “It won’t do to wait another minute!”
The horses were headed up the slope and all broke into a gallop, for the instinct of their species often surpasses the reason of man in such crises of peril. The lads ran alongside, slapping their haunches and urging them to greater speed.
It looked for a few minutes as if, despite their haste, they would be overwhelmed, for within two or three minutes after starting they were wading through the rushing volume that reached to their knees. Victor stumbled, and George, with a cry, caught his arm, believing he was about to be swept off his feet, but he recovered himself and plunged up the slope faster than before.