“Lie down, miss; lie down, and don't be afeerd. The tent will stand, as we are pretty well sheltered here, and———”
Another fearful thunderclap cut short his words, and she instinctively clutched his hand. She was used to terrific thunderstorms in New South Wales, but she had neyer heard anything so awful as this—it seemed as if the heavens had burst.
“Where is Mr. Grainger?” she asked, putting her lips to Dick's ear and speaking loudly.
“Here, beside me, miss.”
“And poor Jacky! Where is he?”
“We'll find out presently, miss. Most likely the horses have cleared out, and he's gone after 'em,” shouted Scott.
For another five minutes the howling fury of the wind and the hissing of the rain rendered any further conversation impossible. Then came a sudden lull of both. Grainger struck a match and lit a small lantern he was holding, and Sheila felt a great satisfaction as the light showed upon his face—-calm and quiet as ever—as he looked at her and smiled.
“You must pardon us coming into the tent, Miss Carolan, but we wanted to light and leave the lantern with you. I'm afraid the horses have bolted for shelter into the sandalwood scrub lower down the creek, or into the gullies, and Jacky has gone after them. Will you mind staying here alone for an hour or two whilst Scott and I help him to find them?”
“Not at all,” she replied bravely, “and I really do not need the light. I am not at all afraid.”
“I know that, Miss Garolan. But it will serve to show us the way back.” (This was merely a kindly fiction.) “And if, during a lull in the rain, you should hear any of the horses' bells, will you fire two shots from that Winchester rifle there beside you? It is possible that they may be quite near to us. Old Euchre” (one of the pack-horses) “has as much sense as a Christian, and it is quite likely that whilst Scott, Jacky, and I are looking for them in the scrub, he will lead them back here.”