Then a low
rumbling gathered in the west. It grew louder and louder, and approached
swiftly--straight from the warm Pacific. Thor grew uneasy, and sniffed in
the face of it. Livid streaks began to criss-cross a huge pall of black
that was closing in on them like a vast curtain. The stars began to go out.
A moaning wind came. And then the rain.
Thor had found a huge rock that shelved inward, like a lean-to, and he
crept back under this with Muskwa before the deluge descended. For many
minutes it was more like a flood than a rain. It seemed as though a part of
the Pacific Ocean had been scooped up and dropped on them, and in half an
hour the creek was a swollen torrent.
The lightning and the crash of thunder terrified Muskwa. Now he could see
Thor in great blinding flashes of fire, and the next instant it was as
black as pitch; the tops of the mountains seemed falling down into the
valley; the earth trembled and shook--and he snuggled closer and closer to
Thor until at last he lay between his two forearms, half buried in the long
hair of the big grizzly's shaggy chest. Thor himself was not much concerned
in these noisy convulsions of nature, except to keep himself dry. When he
took a bath he wanted the sun to be shining and a nice warm rock close at
hand on which to stretch himself.
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