dilection for weather forecasting,
but the uniform accuracy of these guesses commanded their surprise and
subsequently won their respect.

Chilvers and others sometimes call me "Old Prog. Smith," and I am more
proud of that pleasantry than of some others.

There was not a breath of air stirring. The atmosphere seemed stagnant,
like a pool on which the sun has beat during rainless weeks. The dried
tops of the swamp grass and reeds pointed motionless to the
heat-quivering sky. The dust cast up by our car hung over the road like
a ribbon of fog.

The forest to our left shut off a view of the western sky, but I felt
sure that the clouds of an approaching storm were already marshalled
along its horizon. Then we shot out into a clearing and I took one swift
look.

From north to south was spanned the sweeping curve of a gray cloud with
just a tinge of yellow blended into it. The ordinary observer would have
seen in it no premonition of a storm. It was smooth, light in tone and
restful to the eye as compared with the angry blue from out of which the
sun blazed.

The upper edges of this mass were unbroken save at one point near the
zenith of its curve. From this there protruded the sharper edges of a
"thunder-head," as if some titanic and unseen hand were lifting to the
firmament a colossal head of cauliflower, its shaded portions
beautifully toned with blue. This description may be homely, but it has
the merit of accuracy.

I said no word of my certainty of the oncoming tempest, but threw on
full speed and dashed ahead at a rate which startled my fair companion.
From the turn in the road just beyond the clearing we headed directly
into the line of march of the storm. If it were slow-moving I calculated
we would reach Oak Cliff before it broke, but I realised it would be
close work.

Miss Harding leaned over and said something to me. The whirr of the
machinery and the swaying of the car made conversation difficult. I
presume she thought I was determined to show my nerve and skill as a
driver.

"Why this mad haste, Jacques Henri?" she again cried, her head so close
to mine that her hair brushed my cheek.

I returned a non-committal smile and fixed my eyes on the road which
slipped toward us like a huge belt propelled by invisible pulleys.

The miles kept pace with the minutes. Of a sudden the sun was blotted
out. When I lifted my eyes from the road I saw birds circling high in
the sky. The cattle in adjacent fields