"Hands up!" The girl's revolver was levelled at the man's head, and the next instant she heard the Texan laugh softly.
"Just point it the other way, please, if it's loaded. A fellow shot me with one of those once an' I had a headache all the rest of the evenin'." His horse nosed in beside hers. "It's just as I thought," he explained. "Everyone around the outfit's dead to the world. Bein' up all night dancin', an' most of the next day trailin' home, you couldn't get 'em up for a poker game—let alone hangin' a pilgrim."
Alice's fear vanished the moment the Texan appeared. His air of absolute self-confidence in his ability to handle a situation compelled the confidence of others.
"Aren't your nerves ever shaken? Aren't you ever afraid?" she asked.
Tex smiled: "Nerve ain't in not bein' afraid," he answered evasively, "but in not lettin' folks know when you're afraid."
Another gate was opened, and as they passed around the scrub-capped spur of a ridge that projected into the widening valley, the girl drew her horse up sharply and pointed ahead.
"Oh! A little lake!" she cried enthusiastically. "See how the moonlight shimmers on the tiny waves."
Heavy and low from the westward came an ominous growl of thunder.
"Yes. An' there'll be somethin' besides moonlight a-shimmerin' around here directly. That ain't exactly a lake. It's Johnson's irrigation reservoir. If we could get about ten miles below here before the storm hits, we can hole up in a rock cave 'til she blows over. The creek valley narrows down to a canyon where it cuts through the last ridge of mountains.
"Hit 'er up a little, Bat. We'll try an' make the canyon!"