Sandy turned to Mike. “What do you think?” he asked. It had almost stopped raining, but instead of clearing, the sky had taken on an even darker, more ominous color. Mike squinted up at the gathering clouds, hitched his pack more comfortably onto his shoulders and nodded. “Let’s go!” he said firmly.
Hank grinned at them. “You boys are all right,” he said. “I’m going to take you to a hill that’s swarming with goats. I never took anybody there before. We might even get ourselves a head that’ll make the record books.”
But just as he started to turn down the trail, the storm broke with violent, ear-shattering fury. Angry flickers of lightning danced across the tops of nearby ridges. An earth-shaking peal of thunder boomed and rattled down far-off valleys. The rain, which earlier had been falling in a steady drizzle, now came flooding down in streaming torrents.
“Let’s find some shelter,” Mike shouted.
“Don’t bother,” Hank replied, pulling up the collar of his jacket. “We’re about as wet as we’ll ever be. Let’s head back to the house. The mountains aren’t safe in an electric storm.”
Bracing himself against the wind, Hank hunched over and bulled his way through the driving rain, with Sandy and Mike following. It was a miserable hike back, climbing down muddy ravines and slipping over wet gravelly rock. Sandy breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the well-worn trail that led down to Hank’s lodge.
“Boy, that looks good!” he shouted above the wind.
Mike looked back and started to say something, but an enormous clap of thunder drowned his words. He gave it up and grinned instead.
They were about halfway down the trail when two sharp reports rang out over the howling storm. Hank stopped abruptly.
“What’s that?” Mike asked. “Thunder?”