“Wall, now, stranger, how kin yer do that—tell us,” demanded the leader of the cowboys, leaning forward on the bow of his saddle, deeply interested.
“Well, you’ve heard that explosions near the sky will concentrate the moisture, thus causing it to condense in a copious rainfall,” declaimed Frank pompously, putting in all the long words he could think of.
“Hump—wall,” dubiously remarked the cowboy, scratching his head, “I dunno as I hev, but you seem ter have it all down pat.”
“That’s what we’ve been doing with our aeroplane,” went on Frank, “making rain. Haven’t we?” he turned to Witherbee questioningly. The miner at once saw what he was driving at.
“Sure,” said the old miner. “Why, pardners, down in Arkansaw they had forgotten what rain looked like till we came along. We made it pour for three days.”
“And that scaryplane does it?”
“Well, we go up in it and then fire bombs from this rain-gun.”
Frank indicated the searchlight as he spoke.
“Wall, I’d sure like ter see that,” said the leader. “How about it, boys?”
“Let’s see what they kin do; but if yer don’t make it rain, strangers, we’ll string you all up ter that sycamore tree,” decided one of the group.