THE RAINY SEASON 95 
above the backbone of the range and spread swiftly 
till it covered the whole corner of the sky. As it 
neared a cold wind roared dismally through the 
trees and a moment later rain fell in sheets, blotting 
out the surrounding landscape completely. 
We stood meanwhile under the half shelter of a 
tree or rock, wet to the skin and numb with cold, 
and waited till the worst of the storm passed, list- 
ening to the hiss of the rain and watching the almost 
continuous stabs of lightning, or starting involun- 
tarily at the jarring, crashing detonation of the fol- 
lowing thunder. 
Then, when the air cleared a trifle, we sallied forth 
once more and took up our run where we left off. 
Sometimes the rain continued; sometimes we were 
enveloped in chilly banks of cloud, not nearly so at- 
tractive close at hand as they appeared from a dis- 
tance. 
Once, on a day like this, I ran my line for a mile ¢ 
over a row of peaks where the cloud mists were so 
thick I could see not further than fifty feet in any 
direction. My maps, as might be surmised, were 
not all that could be desired. 
Often, instead of passing overhead, a storm would 
miss us and roll by to one side or the other. At such 
times, particularly if we chanced to be in a place of 
vantage, on a pinnacle or high point, the spectacle 
defied description. The whole world; as we saw it— 
mountain and valley, sky and far plain,—framed a 
