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. The air was
perfectly still, not the faintest breath of wind perceptible, and a
fine, mellow, sunny hush pervaded everything, in the midst of which came
that subterranean thunder. Then, while we gazed and listened, came the
corresponding shocks, distinct as if some mighty hand had shaken the
ground. After the sharp horizontal jars died away, they were followed
by a gentle rocking and undulating of the ground so distinct that Carlo
looked at the log on which he was standing to see who was shaking it. It
was the season of flooded meadows and the pools about me, calm as sheets
of glass, were suddenly thrown into low ruffling waves.
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