out of work, waiting to be hired.

Half a dozen or more showers may oftentimes be seen falling at once, while
far the greater part of the sky is in sunshine, and not a raindrop comes
nigh one. These thunder-showers from as many separate clouds, looking like
wisps of long hair, may vary greatly in effects. The pale, faint streaks
are showers that fail to reach the ground, being evaporated on the way down
through the dry, thirsty air, like streams in deserts. Many, on the other
hand, which in the distance seem insignificant, are really heavy rain,
however local; these are the gray wisps well zigzagged with lightning. The
darker ones are torrent rain, which on broad, steep slopes of favorable
conformation give rise to so-called "cloudbursts"; and wonderful is the
commotion they cause. The gorges and gulches below them, usually dry,
break out in loud uproar, with a sudden downrush of muddy, boulder-laden
floods. Down they all go in one simultaneous gush, roaring like lions
rudely awakened, each of the tawny brood actually kicking up a dust at
the first onset.

During the winter months snow falls over all the high plateau, usually
to a considerable depth, whitening the rim and the roofs of the cañon
buildings. But last winter, when I arrived at Bright Angel in the middle
of January, there was no snow in sight, and the ground was dry, greatly
to my disappointment, for I had made the trip mainly to see the cañon in
its winter garb. Soothingly I was informed that this was an exceptional
season, and that the good snow might arrive at any time. After waiting a
few days, I gladly hailed a broad-browed cloud coming grandly on from
the west in big promising blackness, very unlike the white sailors of the
summer skies. Under the lee of a rim-ledge, with another snow-lover, I
watched its movements as it took possession of the cañon and all the
adjacent region in sight. Trailing its gray fringes over the spiry tops