Slowly the character of the country began to change. When Bob Somers at last reined up in the middle of a grass covered valley and realized that, from this point on, most of the traveling would be over an undulating plain, he exclaimed with a great sigh of contentment: “By George! This is a welcome change, eh, Tom?”
“Well, rather,” replied the other.
Dismounting, the lads staked their ponies; then each, after taking a long drink of tepid water from his canvas water-bottle, sought the nearest patch of tall grass, into which he threw himself at full length.
A strange brooding silence hovered over the scene. Even the chanting of the insects was silenced.
The storm approached much more slowly than either had anticipated, though clouds of a palish white were now piling up in magnificent rounded forms, the modeling of which suggested all the delicacy of sculptured marble. Through a broad flat tone of murky gray at the base coppery gleams of electric flame were flashing in zigzag streaks.
“And to think there’s no umbrella shop near at hand,” chirped Tom. “Yes, we’re in for it, sure! Ready, Bob?”
The ponies, already showing signs of nervousness, snorted when the boys sprang astride their backs. By this time the faint, almost continuous booming of thunder, constantly growing louder, told the travelers that their respite from the wrath of the elements would be only of short duration.
At length, as the clouds approached nearer, the majesty of the scene impelled the lads to halt. A breath of air was stirring the leaves and grasses, a few wisps of clouds—the advance guard,—were flying swiftly overhead.
“Look!” cried Tom, in awesome tones.
Vast, yellowish columns of dust in the midst of which branches and boughs whirled in circling flights were advancing with great rapidity, shadowing the whole earth beneath. Rain-drops pattered down.