“They’ve met!” yelled Chunky, bolting for his tent.
“Lie down everyone!” shouted Tom. “You’re safer flat on the ground!”
The Overlanders threw themselves down just as a twisting gust of wind sucked the campfire up into the air. The burning embers swirled dizzily above their heads for a few seconds, and then were hurled scattering off into the black void below, leaving the camp of the Overlanders in deep darkness, save as it was lighted by flashes of lightning. A gale of wind was now blowing in swirling gusts, and rain was falling, a perfect deluge of it.
“The tents, boys! Save the tents,” cried Grace.
“Come, girls! We can help at that,” shouted Miss Briggs.
“The ponies!” reminded Nora.
“I’ll look after them. Tom, you and Jim take care of the camp. Rout out Stacy and make him work, and I’ll try to quiet the horses,” roared Hippy, who then cautiously began feeling his way towards their mounts.
The storm was now a succession of crashes with a continuous roar for a background, and it seemed as if one’s ear drums must burst under it.
As he approached the tethering ground, Hippy called to the ponies—shouted to them and a faint whinny of welcome came back to him, for human companionship meant much to those dumb beasts at that moment of peril, a peril that was to become a reality to Hippy Wingate a few moments later.