They were nearly three miles from Rolfe when Margaret told her father to stop.
“There’s a lane to our right that is blocked with fallen tree trunks,” she said.
Doctor Stevens peered through the rain. A mail box leered up at them from a twisted post.
“This is Herb Lauer’s place,” he said. “I’ll get out and go up the lane.”
The doctor picked up his medical case and left the motor running so the heat it generated would keep ignition wires dry.
One window was left open to guard against the car filling with gas and the girls followed him into the storm. They picked their way slowly over the fallen trees which choked the lane. When they finally reached the farmyard a desolate scene greeted them.
The tornado, like a playful giant, had picked up the one story frame house and dashed it against the barn. Both buildings had splintered in a thousand pieces and only a huddled mass of wreckage remained. Miraculously, the corn crib had been left almost unharmed and inside the crib they could see someone moving.
Doctor Stevens shouted and a few seconds later there came an answering cry. The girls followed him to the crib and found the family of Herb Lauer sheltered there.
“Anyone hurt?” asked Doctor Stevens.
“Herb’s injured his arm,” said Mrs. Lauer, who was holding their two young children close to her.