Frightful had been the roar of the thunder, prolonged like some tremendous subterranean noise.

Incessant lightning had for hours converted night into day, and many were the lofty pines that had been shattered or consumed by the fiery bolts from above.

The wind, which seldom does any damage at such places, had swept through the gorge and over the mesas with tremendous force, and lastly the peaceful, lovely brook, swollen by the waters that gushed from the mountains in torrents, as well as by the rain falling in sheets, had waxed into a roaring, turbid stream.

It had flooded the fields, destroying crops and spreading masses of rocky debris over the tillable soil.

Yes, the heavens had come upon the Rito in their full wrath, as swift and terrible avengers.