I blinked often. The air was rough now, tossing our cabin plane, and the constant flickering of the view made my eyes uncertain and my head ache. Suddenly I became aware of the clouds, a few bedraggled tatters at first, close to the timberline, like wisps of angel hair on a Christmas tree. Then as the plane swerved through a narrow pass and up another valley, I saw the sky devil himself--a billowing, black-bottomed cumulus rolled up on itself three miles high. I went forward to the pilot. He was peering anxiously ahead of him. "Don't you think we better land soon?" I asked. "The sooner the better, sir. I was figuring on landing up at Schwartz's, a trapper who has his diggings on a lake up aways but we won't make it with that storm." He paused as a sudden current sent the plane off keel and he struggled to bring it level again. "I think I'll swing west over that ridge," he pointed to a low mountain wall. "I remember a few lakes over there." The plane banked obediently and swung round. He flipped on the radio, dialing in only ghostly wheezes. "This country plays the devil with radio, sir. Minerals I understand." I went back to my seat. Across from me, Johnny Eagle sat motionless, his eyes never leaving the cabin port, on guard for the Twins. The ridge passed below us. Suddenly darkness enveloped us; we had run into a squall. The plane nosed upwards to ride above it. I shuddered. Flying blind with mountains sheering up on either side is suicidal. When the plane finally broke through, the sun had set. Only a flash of lavender over the western rim remained of the day and soon that faded. The pilot now flew by a faint twilight that mountain snows reflected. The thunderhead cumulus we had evaded was spreading laterally towards us, threatening us with pitch black darkness. I was uneasy; so was the pilot who sat tautly upright. Johnny Eagle remained gazing out at the pallid landscape. "We're all right now," the pilot shouted back. I went up front. "There it is." He pointed down to the right. For a moment I saw nothing; then the glimmering form of a lake appeared obscurely. The plane dipped gently towards it. The pilot's eyes strained to keep the fading glimmer in view, at the same time trying to judge the mass of darkness that was the timber. He did a miraculous job skimming in over the treetops and was just sweeping in over the water for his landing when a sudden gust struck. The plane tilted its nose up abruptly, bucked, then dropped like a load of lead. It slapped the water hard and skidded straight for the wooded shore. Desperately the pilot tried to bring the craft around, but it plunged relentlessly forward and up on the narrow beach, skittering wildly as it left the water. The tail cracked sharply as it whiplashed against the trees. * * * * * Slightly bruised and shaken, we climbed out, but that's all. The pilot got out his torch and we clustered about a map he spread on the ground.