Before the rumbling echoes had died away a hollow-voiced owl began to hoot in philosophical tranquillity from near the edge of the new talus as if nothing extraordinary had occurred, although, perhaps, he was curious to know what all the noise was about.

His "hoot-too-hoot-too-whoo" might have meant, "what's a' the steer, kimmer ?" It was long before the Valley found perfect rest.

The rocks trembled more or less every day for over two months, and I kept a bucket of water on my table to learn what I could of the movements.

The blunt thunder in the depths of the mountains was usually followed by sudden jarring, horizontal thrusts from the northward, often succeeded by twisting, upjolting movements.

More than a month after the first great shock, when I was standing on a fallen tree up the Valley near Lamon's winter cabin, I heard a distinct bubbling thunder from the direction of Tenaya Canyon Carlo, a large intelligent St.Bernard dog standing beside me seemed greatly astonished, and looked intently in that direction with mouth open and uttered a low _Wouf!_ as if saying, "What's that ?" He must have known that it was not thunder, though like it.