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. 
