"We'll have to lead 'em around through the brush, there. We can't
budge this boy."
Scattering rain-drops fell--huge drops that landed with a thud and
splashed broadly.
"Get out the slickers, Bat. Quick now, or we're in for a wettin'." As
he spoke the man stepped to Alice's side, helped her to the ground, and
loosened the pack-strings of her saddle. A moment later he held a huge
oilskin of brilliant yellow, into the sleeves of which the girl thrust
her arms. There was an odour as of burning sulphur and she sniffed the
air as she buttoned the garment about her throat.
The Texan grinned: "Plenty close enough I'll say, when you get a whiff
of the hell-fire. Better wait here 'til I find a way through the
brush. An' keep out of reach of the horse's heels with that slicker
on. You can't never trust a cayuse, 'specially when they can't more'n
half see. They're liable to take a crack at you for luck."
Grasping his bridle reins the Texan disappeared and by the lightning
flashes she could see him forcing his way through the thicket of
willows. The scattering drops changed to a heavy downpour. The
moonlight had long since been obliterated and the short intervals
between the lightning flashes were spaces of intense blackness. A
yellow-clad figure scrambled over the tree trunk and the cowboy took
the bridle reins from her hand.
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