“Something’s wrong,” replied Lenman; “don’t speak or make any noise; we’ll soon know what it is.”
While waiting for the flash of lightning to illuminate the gloom, it never seemed so long coming. A short time before the gleams were continuous, but now the gloom was like that of Egypt as the seconds dragged along.
No one spoke, but all eyes were fixed on the impenetrable darkness in front, while every ear was strained to catch some sound beside the soughing of the wind among the trees.
All at once, as if the overwhelming storehouse of electricity could contain itself no longer, the whole space around, in front and above was lit up by one dazzling flame, which revealed everything with the vividness of a thousand noonday suns.
By its overpowering glare the figure of a man on horseback was seen motionless in the middle of the road, less than twenty feet distant. He knew of the presence of some one in his path, and he, too, was awaiting the help of the lightning before advancing.
“That’s him,’” whispered Tom Wagstaff; “shall we shoot?”
Ethan Durrell felt the seat tremble under the youth, while the others noticed the quaver in his voice.
“No,” replied the driver; “he hasn’t done nothin’ yet; wait till he hails us.”
“That may be too late, but all right.”
“Helloa, Bill, is that you?” came from the horseman.