“The further from the fence the better,” said Gardiner. “There is no place so dangerous in a thunderstorm. Let us keep to the middle of the roadway.”
They moved to the right, but at the first step a groan escaped the girl’s lips. “My ankle,” she moaned. “I—I must have hurt it.”
Gardiner stood irresolute. “Can you lean on it at all?” he asked.
She placed her weight gently upon the ankle, but a flash of lightning revealed a wince of pain across her face.
“I must carry you somewhere,” said Gardiner. “We cannot stay here. The rain is coming on, and perhaps hail with it. We shall be drenched, at least.”
“I think I can walk if you will help,” she ventured bravely. “Stand here, to the right. Let me rest my arm on your shoulder.”
He obeyed. Resting her right hand on his left shoulder she limped painfully a short distance through the darkness. The rain began to fall in great scattered drops, then a vicious rent of lightning seemed to shake the whole heavens, and it fell in floods.
They had worked their painful way about fifty yards. The road was now running in water, and the slippery mud made walking still more difficult. One little shoe drew off and was lost. At every flash they took their bearings for a few feet further, but it became more and more evident they would be unable to reach shelter.
“You must leave me,” she said at last, shouting in his ear to make herself heard. “I cannot go much further. You can find your way to town, or perhaps to a neighbour’s, and get another buggy. I will stay here.”
“Then I will stay with you,” her companion answered. “I cannot leave you alone on the prairie in such a night. Besides, I don’t know where we are. I would never find my way back. We must—hello, what is that?”