Then the storm burst with a succession of ropes and streaks and
shafts of lightning, playing continuously, filling the valley
with a broken radiance; and the cracking shots followed each
other swiftly till the echoes blended in one fearful, deafening
crash.
Venters looked out upon the beautiful valley--beautiful now as
never before--mystic in its transparent, luminous gloom, weird in
the quivering, golden haze of lightning. The dark spruces were
tipped with glimmering lights; the aspens bent low in the winds,
as waves in a tempest at sea; the forest of oaks tossed wildly
and shone with gleams of fire. Across the valley the huge cavern
of the cliff-dwellers yawned in the glare, every little black
window as clear as at noonday; but the night and the storm added
to their tragedy. Flung arching to the black clouds, the great
stone bridge seemed to bear the brunt of the storm. It caught the
full fury of the rushing wind. It lifted its noble crown to meet
the lightnings. Venters thought of the eagles and their lofty
nest in a niche under the arch. A driving pall of rain, black as
the clouds, came sweeping on to obscure the bridge and the
gleaming walls and the shining valley. The lightning played
incessantly, streaking down through opaque darkness of rain. The
roar of the wind, with its strange knell and the re-crashing
echoes, mingled with the roar of the flooding rain, and all
seemingly were deadened and drowned in a world of sound.
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