They hurl thunderbolts through infinite space, and watch them fall.

Then they send thunder rumbling through our mountains, and the sound is as soft to them as a whisper to us." "Your idea is pretty sound, Tayoga," said Willet, who had imbibed more than a little of the Iroquois philosophy, "and it does look as if the gods were at play because there is so much thunder and lightning and no rain.

Look at that flash on the mountain toward the east! I think it struck.

Yes, there goes a tree! When the gods play among the peaks it's just as well for us to stay down here in the gorge." "But the crashes still run regularly from north to east and on around," said Robert.

"I suppose that when they finish talking, the rain will come, and we'll have plenty of need for our spruce shelter." The deep rumbling continued all through the rest of the afternoon.
A dusk as of twilight arrived long before sunset, but it was of an unusually dull, grayish hue, and it affected Robert as if he were breathing an air surcharged with gunpowder.