CHAPTER XXV
THE STORM
There came to the girls’ ears the grumbling of thunder, faint at first but growing louder as it flung itself against the lofty mountains. A flash of lightning illumined the semi-dusk of the woods.
The ponies pricked up their ears nervously and danced a little, threatening to unseat their riders. But the girls spoke to them gently and soothingly and in a moment had them under control again.
“I suppose we ought to go back,” said Dorothy. “You know what storms are up here. And the ponies don’t like the thunder.”
“So it seems,” said Tavia dryly, adding, as she turned her pony so that its nose was pointing toward the trail again: “You may go back, if you like, Dorothy Dale, but I am going on. You are not afraid of a little storm, are you?”
“Only this doesn’t promise to be a little one,” replied Dorothy shortly. “But come on. If we keep the ponies on the trail——”
“All may yet be well,” finished Tavia. “Whew—that was a bad one!” she added, as a terrific crash of thunder flung itself against the mountainside and retreated, grumbling ominously.
The ponies attempted to stand on their hind legs again but the girls only urged them on the faster.
The storm was waxing fast and furious now. The wind tore down upon them in titanic gusts, catching at their breath, whipping twigs and branches across their faces, fairly blinding them.
Another terrific crash of thunder came, a vicious streak of lightning, and then the rain!