“Don’t be a fool.  That was thunder and lightning.  The lightning struck somewhere in the Canyon.  Isn’t that it, Dad?”

Nance nodded.

“It’s always doing that.  It’s been plugging away at Dad’s Canyon for millions of years, but the Canyon is doing business at the same old stand.  I hope those pintos are all right up there,” added the guide anxiously.

“Mebby they’re struck,” suggested Stacy.

“Mebby they are,” replied Nance.  “Come, we’ll be getting back unless you want to get wet.”

A dash of rain followed almost instantly upon the words.  The three started at a trot for the camp.  They found the Professor and his two companions anxiously awaiting their return.

“That was a severe bolt,” said the Professor.

“Always sounds louder down here, you know,” replied Dad.  “Echoes.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Is—–­is it going to rain?” questioned Walter.

“No, it’s going to pour,” returned Chunky.  “You’ll need your rubber boots before long.”

“Move that camp fire in further,” directed Nance.  “It’ll be drowned out in a minute.”

This was attended with some difficulty, but in a few minutes they had the fire burning brightly under the ledge.  Then the rain began.  It seemed to be a cloudburst instead of a rain.  Lightning was almost incessant, the reports like the bombardment of a thousand batteries of artillery, even the rocks trembling and quaking.  Chunky’s face grew pale.

“Say, I want to go home,” he cried.

“Trot right along.  There’s nothing to stop ye,” answered the guide sarcastically.

“Afraid?” questioned Ned jeeringly.

“No, I’m not afraid.  Just scared stiff, that’s all,” retorted the fat boy.

The shelf of rock that sheltered them had now become the base of a miniature Niagara Falls.  The water was pouring over it in tons, making a roaring sound that made that of the river seem faint and far away.

Jim Nance was plainly worried.  Tad Butler saw this and so did the Professor, but neither mentioned the fact.  Their location was no longer dry.  The spray from the waterfall had drenched them to the skin.  No one complained.  They were too used to hardships.

All at once there came a report louder and different from the others, followed by a crashing, a thundering, a quaking of the rocks beneath their feet, that sent the blood from the face of every man in the party.  Even Dad’s face grayed ever so little.

The next second each one was thrown violently to the ground.  A sound was in their ears as if the universe had blown up.

“We’re killed!” howled Chunky.

“Help, help!” yelled Walter Perkins.

“What—–­what is it?” roared the Professor.

“We’re struck!” shouted Tad.

“Lie still.  Hug the wall!” bellowed the stentorian voice of Jim Nance, who himself had crept closer to the Canyon wall and lay hugging it tightly.