After every crash there was a long rumble in the gorges until the next crash came again.

Now and then lightning flared.
"It is not a storm after all," said the Onondaga, "or, at least, if a storm should come it will not be until after night is at hand, when the great gods are through talking.

Listen to the heavy booming, always like the sound of a thousand big guns at one time.

Now the lightning grows and burns until it is at a white heat.

The great gods not only talk, but they are at play.