listen to the sort of Arabian Nights' entertainment that was afforded by
the tales of the cowpunchers.

There was a momentary lull in the talk of the men, a lull in keeping
with the outer night, which was still and very dark. Presently a faint
light flickered across the southern windows of the bunk house, followed
by a low rumble in the northeast.

"Storm in th' mountains," volunteered Jim.

Another moment of silence was followed by a brighter glare, as the sky
in the south caught the reflection of the northern lightning. The former
rumble was succeeded by a more distinct series of crashes, as though the
storm gods of Indian belief were warming up to their work.

"Reck'n she's comin' this way," said Bill Jordan.

There was the sighing of a gentle breeze through the cottonwoods, then a
glare that shamed the oil lamps, and, so fast that it almost might be
said to trip on the light, a crash that caused the men to turn and
regard one another, almost in awe.

"Them mountain storms sure comes downhill fast," said Shorty.

As though announced by the breeze a roar of wind tore through the trees,
and shook the bunk house windows. The darkness was split by vivid,
bluish-green flashes to which the thunder responded in an almost
constant cannonading. The door opened, and Injun and Whitey forced their
way in, then threw their weight upon it in the effort to close it
against the force of the wind. Bill went to their aid.