Johnson scanned the western sky and the glory of the setting sun in its halo of gold and crimson and purple. Then he pointed to where the hosts of the storm kings were gathering above the pines just below El Capitan's peak. From the thickest of the mass a flash of lightning licked downward. "The cook done told me yesterday," he said to his son, "that that ol' mountain yonder is always raising hell. If the lightning gets going strong, there're better places to be in than these here Malpais, son." "I reckon you're right," said the boy, not without an anxious glance upward. They exchanged shots twice with Moffatt before the dark came. With its coming they felt a warm splash of rain upon their faces, and in a leaping flash that illuminated the heavens, they beheld El Capitan swiftly despatching his cloud warriors over the country. "It's getting blacker'n the wash basin at headquarters," said Lafe, Jr., with a nervous laugh. "Moffatt will give us the slip easy in the dark, Dad." "He won't travel far in this storm, son." Nor did he attempt it. The rain burst upon them in squalls that drove in regular procession like waves of the sea, and back of it, urging it forward, rode a hurricane of wind, shrieking and tearing among the mounds. From north to south the lightning flared; they could smell it. The detonations of the thunder rocked the earth. A great jagged spear was hurled upon the pile where the eagle had sat his vigil, and their starting eyes had a momentary vision of the awful impact. Lafe, Jr., crawled close to his father. He was shivering. "Do you reckon we'll be killed, Dad? Look at the lightning." To right, to left, behind them and in front, the forked flashes played upon the metal heaps, the splitting strokes blinding them with blue and green glares. It was a carnival of fire. Johnson stared fascinated, his whole being numbed. A loafer wolf, his tail between his legs, whining dolefully, slunk past them to his den. He did not see or, seeing, did not heed, his hereditary foes. An especially brilliant flash, followed on the instant by a shock of thunder, brought the sheriff half-way to his feet, so close did it feel. In their ears sounded a wild, immeasurably plaintive scream, and he peered over the mound. "That's a horse!" he shouted close to his son's ear. "They yell something awful when they're mortal scared. Yes, I swan there's Steve's horse laying on its side on a rock." Lafe, Jr., was mumbling to himself, but his words were unintelligible, although Lafe afterward assured Hetty that he heard "Now I lay me," quite distinctly. However that may be, his son took heart and began to grope about in the dark behind him. "What's the matter, Lafe?" asked his father anxiously. "Anything wrong, boy?" "I'm looking for my slicker. I brought it along." "What do you want your slicker for? You're soaked through now. You can't get any wetter." "I'll feel sort of safer," said the boy obstinately. "Here it is. I'm going to put it on."