and they lounged about the shack, smoking and
reading, all next day. Charnock was thankful for the rest, but Festing
grumbled and now and then walked impatiently to the door. Late at night
the former was wakened by a distant rumbling. It sounded like thunder,
and he called to his comrade.

"What's that? Had we better get up?"

"Sounds like a big snow-slide," said Festing, raising himself in his
bunk. "Won't harm us; shack's on top of the ridge and we're safer here
than anywhere else." He stopped and listened to the swelling roar and
then resumed: "I'm glad we got that frame braced. It's a big slide and
will probably come down the gully near the bridge. They're going to
snowshed that piece of track and we'll haul out the posts if we can't
get on with the other job."

He lay down again, but Charnock waited. This was the first snow-slide he
had heard and he felt awed by the din. Growing in a long crescendo, it
rolled down the hill in a torrent of sound, but by and by he thought he
could distinguish different notes; the crash of trees carried away by
the avalanche and the scream of gravel grinding across rocky scraps. He
could imagine the stones being planed away and the mass of broken trunks
riding on top of the huge white billow.

It was impossible to sit still, and jumping down, he lighted the lamp,
but found it hard to replace the glass. The shack throbbed, the table on
which he put the matches shook, and there was a rattle of crockery, but
this was drowned by an overwhelming roar. The avalanche was pouring down
a gully near the shack, and he leaned against the table, deafened,
until it passed. Then he heard the turmoil of a tremendous cataract and
imagined the snow was plunging into the river and deflecting the current
upon the other bank. The sound gradually died away and he could hear
detached noises; great pines, broken rocks, and soil, rushing down
behind the fallen mass. There were heavy splashes, and then a strange,
unnatural silence.

"It's finished," Festing remarked. "Rather alarming for the first time,
but one gets used to it. You can put out the light and go back to bed."

Charnock did so and soon went to sleep. In the morning they found that
the most part of the avalanche had fallen into the river, but its tail
remained, resting in a steep cone of snow and broken trees and soil,
against the bank on which they had built the frames. The top of the cone
extended far up the hill, but, owing to the sharpne