Wallie said grimly:
"The only thing I forgot to buy when I was outfitting in Philadelphia was a rain-making apparatus."
"On the level," Pinkey declared, earnestly, "I bleeve we're goin' to have a shower—the clouds bankin' up over there in the northwest is what made me think of it."
Wallie's short laugh was cynical.
"It might drown somebody half a mile from me but it wouldn't settle the dust in my dooryard."
"I see you're gittin' homesteaditis," Pinkey commented, "but jest the same them clouds look like they meant business."
Wallie felt a glimmer of hope in spite of himself and he scrutinized the clouds closely.
"They do look black," he admitted. "But since it hasn't rained for two months it seems too much to expect that it will rain when I need it so desperately."
"It's liable to do anything. I've seen it snow here in August. A fur-lined linen duster is the only coat fer this country. I'll gamble it's goin' to do somethin', but only the Big Boss knows what."
During breakfast they got up at intervals to look through the doorway, and while they washed dishes and tidied the cabin they watched the northwest anxiously.