He and Davy hauled the mules along to the wagon, where Hi and Jim, Mr. Baxter and even the gory Left-over were hustling frantically to put things under cover and make the wagon fast with guy-ropes stretched taut over the top.
But the storm scarcely waited. The bellow of the thunder and the fierce play of the lightning increased. There was a pause, a patter, a swift gust; and rushing out of the inky night charged the rain.
Rain? Sheets of it! Blinding, drenching sheets of it, driven by gust after gust, and riven by peal after peal, glare after glare.
“Hang to the wagon, everybody!” shouted Captain Hi; and Davy, hanging hard, could see, amidst the cataract of water, his partners also hanging hard to guy-ropes and wagon-sheet corners. The mules stood drooped and huddled, their ears flat and their tails turned to the storm.
Never had there been such lightning, never such thunder, never such rain! All in a moment, as it seemed to Davy, he was soaked through and through, and the ground under him was running with water an inch deep. The wagon top bellied and slapped and jerked, and every instant was threatening to tear loose and sail away, or else lift the wagon and all with it.
“Hurrah!” yelled Billy gaily, braced and panting, as he tried to anchor his corner. Nothing daunted Billy Cody. “Now we’ve got water a-plenty!”
As suddenly as it had arrived the bulk of the storm departed, leaving only a drizzle, and a very wet world. The Hee-Haw party might release their grip on the wagon, and take stock. The rain had driven through the canvas top into the bedding and other stuff, and the rest of the night bid fair to be rather uncomfortable.
“What are we going to do now?” whined Left-over.
“Do the best we can,” answered Captain Hi. “Stand up or lie down, whichever you please, till morning.”
“Aren’t you going out to look at my Injun?”