“What’s up?” he demanded. “Have they started?”
He heard Norton laugh, and there was satisfaction in the laugh. “Started?” he repeated. “Well, I reckon something’s started. Listen!”
Hollis listened. A soft patter on the roof, a gentle sighing of the wind, and a distant, low rumble reached his ears. He started up. “Why, it’s raining!” he said.
Norton chuckled. “Rainin’!” he chirped joyously. “Well, I reckon it might be called that by someone who didn’t know what rain is. But I’m tellin’ you that it ain’t rainin’–it’s pourin’! It’s a cloud-burst, that’s what it is!”
Hollis did not answer. He ran to the window and stuck his head out. The rain came against his head and shoulders in stinging, vicious slants. There was little lightning, and what there was seemed distant, as though the storm covered a vast area. He could dimly see the pasture–the horses huddled in a corner under the shelter that had been erected for them; he could see the tops of the trees in the cottonwood grove–bending, twisting, leaning from the wind; the bunkhouse door was open, a stream of light illuminating a space in which stood several of the cowboys. Some were attired as usual, others but scantily, but all were outside in the rain, singing, shouting, and pounding one another in an excess of joy. For half an hour Hollis stood at the window, watching them, looking out at the storm. There was no break anywhere in the sky from horizon to horizon. Plainly there was to be plenty of rain. Convinced of this he drew a deep breath of satisfaction, humor moving him.
“I do hope Dunlavey and his men don’t get wet.” he said. He went to his trousers and drew forth his watch. He could not see the face of it and so he carried it to the window. The hands pointed to fifteen minutes after one. “It’s the tenth day,” he smiled. “Dunlavey might have saved himself considerable trouble in the future if he had placed a little trust in Providence–and not antagonized the small owners. I don’t think Providence has been looking out for my interests, but I wonder who will stand the better in the estimation of the people of this county–Dunlavey or me?”
He smiled again, sighed with satisfaction, and rolled into bed. For a long time he lay, listening to the patter of the rain on the roof, and then dropped off to sleep.
CHAPTER XIX
HOW A RUSTLER ESCAPED
When Hollis got out of bed at six o’clock that same morning he heard surprising sounds outside. Slipping on his clothes he went to the window and looked out. Men were yelling at one another, screeching delightful oaths, capering about hatless, coatless, in the rain that still came steadily down. The corral yard was a mire of sticky mud in which the horses reared and plunged in evident appreciation of the welcome change from dry heat to lifegiving moisture. Riderless horses stood about, no one caring about the saddles, several calves capered awkwardly in the pasture. Norton’s dog–about which he had joked to Hollis during the latter’s first ride to the Circle Bar–was yelping joyously and running madly from one man to another.