Chunky heeded the advice and asked no more personal questions for the next hour, though he did forget himself before the evening was ended.

“You seem to be having pretty dry weather down here,” said the Professor, by way of starting the old man to talking.

“Yep.  Haven’t had any rain in this belt fer the last two years.”

“Two years!” exclaimed the boys.

“Yep.  Had a few light dews, but that’s all,” replied the hermit.

“Looks to me as if you were going to get some to-night,” announced Tad.

“Reckon not.”

“Then I’m no judge of weather.”

Even as Tad spoke there was a low muttering of thunder, and the far lightning flashed pale and green, and rose on the long horizon to the southwest.

Kris Kringle heard the far away growl.  Springing up, he began staking down the tents.

“That’s a good idea.  We lost our whole outfit on our last trip.  Think they’ll stand a blow?”

“I guess they will when I get through with them.  Have we any more stakes in camp?”

“There should be some in the kit.”

Tad searched until he found several more stakes, and with these and the emergency ropes, they made the tents secure.

By the time they had done so, the heavens had grown black and menacing.  They could see the storm sweeping down on them.  It was a magnificent sight, and the lads were so lost in observing its grandeur that they forgot to feel any alarm.

A cloud of dust accompanied the advance guard of the storm.

“Reckon there ain’t any rain in them clouds,” commented the old man.  “There’s plenty of the other thing, though.”

“What’s the other thing?” questioned Chunky.

“Lightning.”

Even as he spoke a bolt descended right in the center of the camp, tearing a hole in the earth and hurling a cloud of dirt and dust many feet up into the air.

The force of the explosion knocked some of the party flat.

Chunky picked himself up and carefully brushed his clothes; then, solemnly walked out and sat down on the spot where the lightning had struck.

“Here, here!  What are you doing out there?” demanded the guide.

“Sitting on the lightning.”

“You come in here!  And quick, at that!”

“Huh!  Guess I know what I’m doing.  Lightning never strikes twice in the same place.  I’m—­”

By this time Kris Kringle had the fat boy by the collar, hustling him to the protection of one of the tents.

No sooner had they reached it than a crash that seemed as if it had split the earth wide open descended upon them.  Balls of fire shot off in every direction.  One went right through the tent where they were huddled, hurling the Pony Rider Boys in a heap.

They scrambled up calling to each other nervously.

The shock had extinguished the lantern that hung in the tent.  The guide relighted it, and, stepping outside to see what had happened, pointed to the place where Chunky had been sitting but a few minutes before.