CHAPTER V
A wind began to sigh among the trees as Hollister made his way
downhill. Over his evening fire he heard it grow to a lusty gale that
filled the valley all night with moaning noises. Fierce gusts
scattered the ashes of his fire and fluttered the walls of his tent as
though some strong-lunged giant were huffing and puffing to blow his
house down. At daylight the wind died. A sky banked solid with clouds
began to empty upon the land a steady downpour of rain. All through
the woods the sodden foliage dripped heavily. The snow melted, pouring
muddy cataracts out of each gully, making tiny cascades over the edge
of every cliff. Snowbanks slipped their hold on steep hillsides high
on the north valley wall. They gathered way and came roaring down out
of places hidden in the mist. Hollister could hear these slides
thundering like distant artillery. Watching that grim facade across
the river he saw, once or twice during the day, those masses plunge
and leap, ten thousand tons of ice and snow and rock and crushed
timber shooting over ledge and precipice to end with fearful crashing
and rumbling in the depth of a steep-walled gorge.
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