"It means a cyclone. How bad a one, we can't tell until it has passed. If it keeps its present course, it will pass north of the crowd, but I am afraid it will strike the town."
By this time many of the people had noticed the great cloud in the west, and soon the entire assemblage heard a deep, continuous roar. Then men, women, and children began to run, for the cloud increased in blackness and noise at a terrifying rate, but the Doctor shouted:—
"Stay where you are! Get to the windward of the platform, and wagons and horses! Pass the word around—quick! Ah, Mr. Truett! What do you see?"
"All sorts of things," said Truett, from behind his field-glasses. "Lightning—and tree boughs—and corn-stalks—and boards—and something that looks like a roof. Also, oceans of rain. We're in for a soaking unless we hurry back to town."
"The soaking's the safer," said the Doctor, adjusting the proffered glasses to his own eyes. "Ah, 'tis as I feared: it is tearing its way through the town. There goes the court-house roof—and the church steeple." Abruptly returning the glasses, the Doctor shouted as the great cloud passed rapidly to the northward and rain fell suddenly in torrents:—
"Men—only men—hurry to town, and keep close to me when you get there." Then he found his horse and buggy and led a wild throng of wagons, horsemen, and footmen, behind whom, despite the Doctor's warning, came the remaining components of the procession, and up to heaven went an appalling chorus of screams, prayers, and curses, for the word "cyclone"—the word most dreaded in the West since the Indian outbreaks ended—had passed through the crowd.
The outskirts of the town were more than a mile distant, and before they were reached, the throng saw that several buildings were burning, though the rainfall seemed sufficient to extinguish any ordinary conflagration. Philip, who was riding with several other men in a farm wagon, saw, when the wagon turned into the main street, that one of the burning buildings was his own store. Apparently it had been first unroofed and crushed by the storm, for all that remained of it and its contents seemed to be in a pit that once was the cellar, and from which rose a little flame and a great column of smoke and steam.
"Let's save people first; property afterward!" he replied to the men in the wagon when they offered to remain with him and fight the fire. Afterward he received for his speech great credit which was utterly undeserved, for after an instant of angry surprise at his loss he was conscious of a strange, wild elation. A week earlier, such a blow would have been a serious reverse—perhaps ruin; now, thanks to his long-forgotten mining stock, he was fairly well off and could start anew elsewhere, entirely by himself and unhampered by conditions. He had tried hard to accept Claybanks as his home for life, and thought he had succeeded; but now, through the gloom of the storm, the outer world, especially all parts out of the cyclone belt, seemed delightfully inviting.
"Where'll we find the people to save?" This question, from a man in the wagon, recalled Philip's better self, and he replied quickly:—