The shower beat. They were not half-way home when, just after crossing the railroad, with its cottage-like station in sight, the sky darkened rapidly and a big drop fell upon Donald's nose.
"We're in for it!" he cried. "Whip up, Dot! We'll make for the station."
Reaching the station, and finding themselves still dry, in spite of the warning thunder, they decided to hurry on to the next stopping-place.
This was Vanbogen's, a little country inn about half a mile farther, where they could be housed if necessary, and the horses be sheltered also. A sudden flash gave point to their determination. On they sped, the lightning now dancing ahead of them, and the thunder rolling on apace.
"It's a race for life," thought Dorry, in high spirits—so pleased to have an adventure that she forgot to dread the threatening shower. Yankee and Dood did nobly; abandoning their canter, they galloped on, neck and neck, while their riders carried on a panting sort of conversation concerning the new turn of things, and the prospects of reaching home before dark.
"What mat—ter if—we don't?" said Dorry, her voice almost lost in the rumbling thunder; "Yankee—and Dood—can find—the way—if it's—pitch dark."
"But, Uncle—ex-pected—us by—"
"Well—he'll know—what keeps—us."
"Plucky girl!" thought Don, admiring her bright cheeks and graceful air as she at that moment dashed by.
Yankee, on principle, never let Dood beat him. In the commotion of the thunder and lightning, it seemed to Donald that a livelier race had begun; but, the next instant he realized that Dorry's pony had halted, and his own was some paces ahead.