nwoods and the oaks waved to the east, and the
rings of aspens along the terraces twinkled their myriad of bright faces
in fleet and glancing gleam. A low roar rose from the leaves of the
forest, and the spruces swished in the rising wind. It came in gusts,
with light breezes between. As it increased in strength the lulls
shortened in length till there was a strong and steady blow all the
time, and violent puffs at intervals, and sudden whirling currents. The
clouds spread over the valley, rolling swiftly and low, and twilight
faded into a sweeping darkness. Then the singing of the wind in the
caves drowned the swift roar of rustling leaves; then the song swelled
to a mourning, moaning wail; then with the gathering power of the
wind the wail changed to a shriek. Steadily the wind strengthened and
constantly the strange sound changed.

The last bit of blue sky yielded to the on-sweep of clouds. Like angry
surf the pale gleams of gray, amid the purple of that scudding front,
swept beyond the eastern rampart of the valley. The purple deepened to
black. Broad sheets of lightning flared over the western wall. There
were not yet any ropes or zigzag streaks darting down through the
gathering darkness. The storm center was still beyond Surprise Valley.

"Listen!... Listen!" cried Bess, with her lips close to Venters's ear.
"You'll hear Oldring's knell!"

"What's that?"

"Oldring's knell. When the wind blows a gale in the caves it makes what
the rustlers call Oldring's knell. They believe it bodes his death.
I think he believes so, too. It's not like any sound on earth.... It's
beginning. Listen!"

The gale swooped down with a hollow unearthly howl. It yelled and pealed
and shrilled and shrieked. It was made up of a thousand piercing cries.
It was a rising and a moving sound. Beginning at the western break of
the valley, it rushed along each gigantic cliff, whistling into the
caves and cracks, to mount in power, to bellow a blast through the great
stone bridge. Gone, as into an engulfing roar of surging waters, it
seemed to shoot back and begin all over again.

It was only wind, thought Venters. Here sped and shrieked the sculptor
that carved out the wonderful caves in the cliffs. It was only a gale,
but as Venters listened, as his ears became accustomed to the fury and
strife, out of it all or through it or above it pealed low and perfectly
clear and persistently uniform a strange sound that had no counterpart
in all the