t
them across the desert through the black darkness of the night. The
air vibrated with a tremendous booming which affected their ears like
the deep notes of a huge organ, and the loudest shout was only just
heard.

"It's me. It's Peter," said a voice at their side.

"Come for your lives. The tornado's right on top of us."

He caught each boy firmly by the wrist and dragged them, dressed only
in pyjamas just as they had tumbled out of bed, out of the room, down
the corridor, and out at the back of the hotel. Everything was in
confusion. They bumped into people and upset chairs and things in
their mad rush. Now and again Peter's voice rose above the din,
shouting, "The tank! The tank!" but nobody paid any attention, even if
they heard the voice of a man above that other and more dreadful voice
which was coming nearer and nearer and striking terror into the hearts
even of the brave dwellers in the desert.

The shock of the night air did more than anything else fully to arouse
the boys. It was like a dash of cold water, and though Peter still
kept a tight grip of them, they ran along level with him of their own
accord. Out into the yard they dashed, round one or two corners, over
a fence at the back of an outhouse, and suddenly the man stopped dead
and began pulling at something on the ground. It was a grating with a
big iron handle. It stuck. The approaching tornado roared with anger
while the man put out all his great strength. The booming sound rose
to a shriek of triumph, as if the storm actually saw that these
escaping human beings were delivered into its power. But Peter's
muscles were like steel and leather. He strained till the veins stood
out on his forehead like rope. At last the thing loosened and came up,
and the bushman sprawled on his back. But he was on his feet again
instantly. Speech would have been no good, so he gripped Vaughan by
the collar of his pyjamas and swung him into the hole in the ground,
and only waited long enough for the boy to find a foothold before he
did the same with Stobart. Then he scrambled down himself. They were
in a big cement rain-water tank built in the ground at the back of the
hotel. There was no water in it.

Nobody spoke. Nobody _could_ speak. The air was so packed full of
sound that it seemed as if it could not possibly hold one sound more.
It was like the booming of a thousand great guns at the same time; the
shock, the recoil, and the rush of a