It was wonderful to see how well the aged Indian bore up in spite of his years, and walked on ahead. They had left their mules tethered some distance back, in a sheltering clump of trees, and they hoped the animals would be safe.
The guide found a place where they could leave the trail, though going down a dangerous slope, and take to the forest. As carefully as possible they descended this, the rain continuing to fall, the wind to blow, the lightning to sizzle all about them and the thunder to boom in their ears.
They went on until they were beneath the shelter of the thick jungle growth of trees, which kept off some of the pelting drops.
“This is better!” exclaimed Ned, shaking his poncho and getting rid of some of the water that had settled on it.
“Bless my overcoat!” cried Mr. Damon. “We seem to have gotten out of the frying pan into the fire!”
“How?” asked Tom. “We are partly sheltered here, though had we stayed in the cave in spite of — — ”
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A deafening crash interrupted him, and following the flash one of the giant trees of the forest was seen to blaze up and then topple over.
“Struck by lightning!” yelled Ned.
“Yes; and it may happen to us!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “We were safer from the lightning in the open. Maybe — — ”
Again came an interruption, but this time a different one. The very ground beneath their feet seemed to be shaking and trembling.
“What is it?” gasped Ned, while Goosal fell on his knees and began fervently to pray.
“It’s an earthquake!” yelled Tom Swift.
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