hastened back out of the sun; and Wunpost, after a minute of careful
scrutiny, unpacked and squatted down in the shade.

"They're moving together," he said to Billy, "and see that lightning
reaching out? This is going to bust the world open, somewhere. That's no
cloudburst that's shaping up, it's a regular old waterspout; I know by
the way she acts."

He settled back on his heels to await the outcome, and as the thunder
began to roll he turned to his companion and shook his head in ominous
silence. There were but two clouds in the sky, all the rest was blazing
light; and these two clouds were moving slowly together, or rather,
towards a common center. One came on from the southeast, the other from
the west, and some invisible force seemed to be drawing them towards the
peaks which marked the summit of the Panamints. The play of the
lightning became almost constant, the rumbling rose to a tumult; and
then, as if caught by resistless hands, the two clouds rushed together.
There was a flash of white light, a sudden blackening of the mass, and
as Wunpost leapt up shouting a writhing funnel reached down as if
feeling for the palpitating earth.

"There she goes!" he cried; "it's a waterspout, all right--but it ain't
going to land near here."

He talked on, half to himself, as the great spiral reached and
lengthened; and then he shouted again, for it had struck the ground,
though where it was impossible to tell. The high rim of the canyon cut
off all but the high peaks, and they could see nothing but the
waterspout now; and it, as if stabilized by its contact with the earth,
had turned into a long line of black. It was a column of falling water,
and the two clouds, which had joined, seemed to be discharging their
contents down a hole. They were sucked into the vortex, now turned an
inky black, and their millions of tons of water were precipitated upon
one spot, while all about the ground was left dry.

Wunpost knew what was happening, for he had seen it once before, and as
he watched the rain descend he imagined the spot where it fell and the
wreck which would follow its flood. For the Panamints are set on edge
and shed rain like a roof, the water all flowing off at once; and when
they strike a canyon, after rushing down the converging gulches, there
is nothing that can withstand their violence. Every canyon in the range,
and in the Funeral Range beyond, and in Tin Mountain and the Grapevines
to the north--every one of t