Black night enfolded the valley.  Venters could not see his companion, and knew of her presence only through the tightening hold of her hand on his arm.  He felt the dogs huddle closer to him.  Suddenly the dense, black vault overhead split asunder to a blue-white, dazzling streak of lightning.  The whole valley lay vividly clear and luminously bright in his sight.  Upreared, vast and magnificent, the stone bridge glimmered like some grand god of storm in the lightning’s fire.  Then all flashed black again—­blacker than pitch—­a thick, impenetrable coal-blackness.  And there came a ripping, crashing report.  Instantly an echo resounded with clapping crash.  The initial report was nothing to the echo.  It was a terrible, living, reverberating, detonating crash.  The wall threw the sound across, and could have made no greater roar if it had slipped in avalanche.  From cliff to cliff the echo went in crashing retort and banged in lessening power, and boomed in thinner volume, and clapped weaker and weaker till a final clap could not reach across the waiting cliff.

In the pitchy darkness Venters led Bess, and, groping his way, by feel of hand found the entrance to her cave and lifted her up.  On the instant a blinding flash of lightning illumined the cave and all about him.  He saw Bess’s face white now with dark, frightened eyes.  He saw the dogs leap up, and he followed suit.  The golden glare vanished; all was black; then came the splitting crack and the infernal din of echoes.

Bess shrank closer to him and closer, found his hands, and pressed them tightly over her ears, and dropped her face upon his shoulder, and hid her eyes.

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.