A dull, increasing roar, like the moaning of the Indian Sea, when the cyclone is being born, struck the ears of the whites, all of whom paused in their conversation and listened, wondering what it meant.
The horses showed signs of restlessness and fear, but they were held sternly in check, while the riders bent all their faculties into that of hearing; and by a common instinct, every eye was turned toward Lightning Jo, as if inquiring of him an explanation of the strange sound.
What the scout thought can only be conjectured; but there was a scared look upon his face that gave all the most gloomy forebodings, and they awaited his words and actions with an intensity of anxiety that can scarcely be described.
The roar, which now drowned every other sound, was like that made by the approaching train, and it had that awful element of terror which comes over one when he feels that a peril is bearing swiftly down upon him from which there is no escape.
“Onto your hosses, every one of you! Cut ’em loose from the wagons, and don’t wait a minute!”
The voice of Lightning Jo rung out like a trumpet and was obeyed on the instant, while by another imperious command of his, the women and children were taken upon the backs of the animals in front of the hunters.
Quickly as all this was done, it was not a moment too soon. In reply to the questioning looks of his friends, the scout pointed up the ravine in the direction whence they had come.
At first sight, there seemed to be a mass of discolored snow spinning down the canon; but the next moment all knew that it was the foam and spray of water, rushing down upon them with the impetuosity of a Niagara.
“Hold fast!” called out Jo; “but there’s no use trying to fight it!”
Even while the words were in his mouth, the appalling torrent came upon them!