The first drops of rain now fell, and I knew that the greatest fury of the storm had passed. I led Czar back under the oak, held my rifle with the hammer down under my armpit, shouted to Kreger to follow me, and stood as erect under my broad-brimmed hat as I could. The rain fell in torrents, so that in a few minutes we had not a dry thread on us; a stream flowed between our feet, and the storm chilled us to the marrow. We stood silent, like herons; and though it was so dark that we could not see each other, we were contented at being still alive, and having our horses with us. It rained nearly till morning, which was never more heartily greeted than by us two; and, ere long, a clear blue sky cheered us. The greatest difficulty was to light the fire again. My traps had remained perfectly dry, as they were protected by the bushes underneath, and the storm had been unable to touch them; I had the means of making fire, but dry wood was not so easy to procure: still I succeeded in getting some out of a hollow old oak, and the botanist's blotting-paper helped to kindle the flame. It was scarce blazing ere we laid arms-full of dead wood from the fallen trees upon it, and soon produced such a heat that it dried us in a very short time. Kreger's traps had become rather wet, but the damage could be easily repaired; and we did not the less enjoy our breakfast on that account. The sun came out with its warming, cheering beams, and lit up the ruin which the storm had created during the night, while a calm glad smile on the face of surrounding nature seemed to contradict the possibility of it being capable of any such wild passion. We were ready to start at a tolerably early hour, but an obstacle offered itself which threatened to take us far out of our course. The usually insignificant stream had swollen into such a rapid torrent, and spread so far over its banks, that we could not hope to cross it. I could not forgive myself the oversight of not crossing the stream over night, which is an established rule with travellers and hunters in this country, for the waters often rise fifteen to twenty feet in a few hours, and the hunter who incautiously bivouacs on the bank runs the risk of being so begirt by the swelling tide as to be unable to escape its fury. Not only men are exposed to this, but also the quadruped denizens of these parts, and I repeatedly saw drowned buffaloes and stags being carried away by such swollen rivers. However, as a rule, the inundation only lasts a few hours, because the small streams have but a short course, and are only swollen by the mountain torrents.