The storm had held off while twilight faded, but now the sky was cloud-curtained, and the night fell inky black and silent save for sounds from the herd.

The soft thudding of hoofs, the occasional low-voiced note, possibly of a cow to its young, seemed to blend into a murmur, strange and fascinating to Whitey, commonplace and tiresome to the men of the range.
Then the storm began to send signals of its approach from air and sky.
First the hushing of the wind, then the pale glares from the distant sky where the earth's edge joined it, then the rumble of thunder, growing in volume with the brighter, green flashes of the lightning--all familiar enough to Whitey, but now giving him a thrill because felt in strange surroundings.

The nervous stirring of the mass of beasts near by added to the boy's thrill, for a coming storm was never to be taken calmly by the hulking, helpless brutes.
And when the rush of wind and the crashing of the coming tempest sounded, and the herders were renewing their watchfulness, another storm was breeding that they did not dream of.

For over beyond, in a gully, the sheepmen were gathered.

And each man carried a white garment, like those you may have seen pictured as worn by the old raiders of the South--the Ku-Klux Klan.