Roland and Dick threw themselves on the ground, face downwards, expecting death every moment.
The din, the dust, the crashing and roaring, were terrific!
When the storm had passed not a bush or leaf of the wood in which our heroes lay had been stirred. But the glade was now a strange sight.
The waters of the pool had been taken up. The pond was dry. Only half-dead alligators lay there, writhing in agony, but every tapir had been not only killed but broken up, and mingled with twisted trees, pieces of rock, and hillocks of sand.
Truly, although Nature in these regions may very often be seen in her most beautiful aspects, fearful indeed is she when in wrath and rage she comes riding in storms and whirlwinds from off the great table-lands, bent on ravaging the country beneath.
"What a merciful escape!" said Roland, as he sat by Dick gazing on the destruction but a few yards farther off.
"I could not have believed it," returned Dick. "Fancy a whirlwind like that sweeping over our camp, Roland?"
"Yes, Dick, or over our boats on the river; but we must trust in Providence."
Roland now blew his whistle, and a party of his own Indians soon appeared, headed by a few white men.
"Boys," said Roland smiling, "my friend and I came out to shoot young tapir for you. Behold! Dame Nature has saved us the trouble, and flesh is scattered about in all directions."