THE DUSKY GROUSE. 151 



over to the furious gods of the tempest. The storm 

 came on so suddenly that we were not prepared for it, 

 and, as a result, we got a drenching before we thought 

 of unpacking our rubber goods. The first indication we 

 had of its approach was the cessation of all sounds, then 

 the gentle soughing of the lake, and, finally, the deep 

 frowning of the sky, which produced a darkness almost 

 equal to a London fog. 



This gloomy and almost death-like stillness was sud- 

 denly disturbed by a lurid flash in the distance, which 

 was followed by a reverberating peal of thunder that 

 seemed to make the hills and mountains tremble, while 

 the rain poured down in inky torrents, as though the 

 floodgates of the firmanents had been opened. As flash 

 followed flash, until the sky appeared to be a mass of 

 fire, and the peals boomed rapidly, like a park of artil- 

 lery opening a battle, our horses became alarmed and 

 tried to break away, but we held them steadily, and, by 

 shouting at them, managed to make our voices heard 

 above the roar of the tempest, and the rumbling and 

 crashing of the heavenly batteries. This storm only 

 lasted about an hour, but, brief as it was, it was one of 

 the most violent I can recall. When the sky cleared up 

 again the air was delightfully cool, and continued so un- 

 til we reached our destination from one of the most de- 

 lightful excursions a man can make in the wild, free West. 



