That mighty fury of wind was all aloft, in the tree-tops.
And for a long moment it bowed the forest under its tremendous power.
Then the deafening crash passed to roar, and that swept on and on, lessening in volume, deepening in low detonation, at last to die in the distance.
No sooner had it died than back to the north another low roar rose and ceased and rose again.

Helen lay there, whispering to Bo, and heard again the great wave of wind come and crash and cease.

That was the way of this storm-wind of the mountain forest.
A soft patter of rain on the tarpaulin warned Helen to remember Dale's directions, and, pulling up the heavy covering, she arranged it hoodlike over the saddle.

Then, with Bo close and warm beside her, she closed her eyes, and the sense of the black forest and the wind and rain faded.

Last of all sensations was the smell of smoke that blew under the tarpaulin.
When she opened her eyes she remembered everything, as if only a moment had elapsed.