the sky since morning were gathering in threatening masses. This had
happened every afternoon, but now and then the cloud ranks had broken,
to pour out a furious deluge and a blaze of lightning. Harding
anxiously studied the sky.

"I guess we're up against another thunderstorm," he said. "My opinion
of the mid-continental climate is singularly mean, but I'd put this
strip of Canada near the limit. Our Texan northers are fierce when
they come along; but here it blows all the time."

"We'll make camp, if you like; I don't feel very fresh," Blake replied.

"Not here," snapped Harding. "Where I stop I sleep, and I'm not
particularly enthusiastic about sheltering under the cart. Last time
we tried it the pony stampeded and the wheel went over my foot. The
tent's no good; you'd want a chain to stop its blowing away. We'll go
on until we bring up to lee of a big, solid bluff."

"Very well," Blake agreed. "I dare say we ought to find one in the
hollow we got a glimpse of from the last rise; but we haven't had to
put up with much discomfort yet."

"That's a matter of opinion. You haven't limped forty miles on a bad
foot; but I'm not complaining. It's a whole lot to feel that we have
started; doing nothing takes the sand out of me."

Blake had once or twice suggested that his comrade should ride, but the
pony was overburdened and Harding refused. He explained that they
could not expect to sell it at the settlement if it were in a worn-out
condition; but Blake suspected him of sympathy for the patient beast.