A PRAIRIE STORM 21 



calling, until it grew into a soul-chilling chorus- 

 hungry and despairing as the " Adsum " of tired 

 souls in the leash of the corpse of sin. For the 

 first time in Canada I heard the music of the 

 prairie-wolf. I got back into the buggy and waited 

 in silence. Gradually the storm grew and burst 

 into magnificent fury. Peals of thunder rose and 

 fell, like mountains in procession marching to the 

 battle-cry of the gods by light of the unearthly 

 splendour in motion which flashed from every 

 corner of the heavens. The infernal orchestra of 

 the wolves from all ends of the prairie joined in the 

 imperial crescendo. Nothing was strange — all 

 seemed at one with the crash of storm and the cry 

 of the unseen hosts of the unfamiliar hours of 

 darkness, and one had a strange desire to step out 

 of everything and dart to one's place on the wing of 

 the storm, as, fierce and dry-eyed, it swept on its 

 way across those plains of peace. 



But with its passing the rain fell as though it 

 would wash away the sway and the trail of tempest 

 with the relief of familiar discomfort. It drowned 

 my hat, my pretty frock, my petticoats, my shoes. 

 Finally it washed me out of the buggy to seek 

 protection and a touch of warmth on the more 

 sheltered of the dripping sides of Charles Edward. 

 In time the deluge ceased, but black darkness 

 remained until the silent shadows of dawn stole back 

 to duty, revealing the fact that we were within half 

 a mile of home, and like a drowned rat I made my 

 way back to the stable and the cottage. 



