from the first, came a like rumble, and,
after a few moments of silence, a third rumble was heard to the east.
Silence again and then the far rumble came from the south.

"That's odd," said Robert. "It isn't often that you hear thunder on
all sides of you."

"Listen!" exclaimed Tayoga, whose face bore a rapt and extraordinary
look. The four rumbles again went around the horizon, coming from one
point after the other in turn.

"It is no ordinary thunder," said the Onondaga in a tone of deep
conviction.

"What is it, then?" asked Robert.

"It is Manitou, Areskoui, Tododaho and Hayowentha talking together.
That is why we have the thunder north, east, south and west. Hear
their voices carrying all through the heavens!"

"Which is Manitou?"

"That I cannot tell. But the great gods talk, one with another, though
what they say is not for us to know. It is not right that mere mortals
like ourselves should understand them, when they speak across infinite
space."

"It may be that you're right, Tayoga," said Willet.

The three did not yet go into the spruce shelter, because, contrary to
the signs, there was no rain. The wind moaned heavily and thick black
clouds swept up in an almost continuous procession from the western
horizon, but they did not let a drop fall. The thunder at the four
points of the horizon went on, the reports moving from north to east,
and thence to south and west, and then around and around, always in
the same direction. After every crash there was a long rumble in the
gorges until the next crash came again. Now and then lightning flared.

"It is not a storm after all," said the Onondaga, "or, at least, if a
storm should come it will not be until after night is at hand, when
the great gods are through talking. Listen to the heavy booming,
always like the sound of a thousand big guns at one time. Now the
lightning grows and burns until it is at a white heat. The great gods
not only talk, but they are at play. They hurl thunderbolts through
infinite space, and watch them fall. Then they send thunder rumbling
through our mountains, and the sound is as soft to them as a whisper
to us."

"Your idea is pretty sound, Tayoga," said Willet, who had imbibed more
than a little of the Iroquois philosophy, "and it does look as if the
gods were at play because there is so much thunder and lightning and
no rain. Look at that flash on the mountain toward the east! I think
it struck. Yes, there goes a tree! Wh