Janet’s spirits dropped and for the first time in weeks she felt like having a good, old-fashioned crying spell, but there wasn’t any pillow where she could bury her head and she didn’t want to cry in front of the men in the company.
The valley was hushed for a moment. Even the thunder was silent in the breathless pause that often comes just before a mid-summer storm vents its fury.
It was during this pause that Helen, watching the hills below the storm clouds, caught a flash of light. It was too low for lightning and she gripped Janet’s right arm.
“There’s a car coming!” she cried.
Janet turned hopefully and looked in the direction Helen pointed, but there was no sign of light and she heard an involuntary sob escape from Helen.
Then it came again, two twin beams of light cutting around a hill. Helen was right! A car was coming and Janet, unashamed, felt the tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
Billy Fenstow was talking to himself.
“I knew that lanky cowboy would do it,” he said, repeating it over and over as though he were a human talking machine, stuck on a single note.
A horn sounded a warning note as the oncoming vehicle swung into the ranchyard just as the sky opened and the first sweep of rain struck the valley. Forgetting all else, they ran toward the machine, which proved to be a hulking truck, with a covered top.
Janet and Helen reached the rear. Someone reached down and pulled them under the shelter of the top. A flashlight blazed into their faces and a strong arm encircled Janet’s shoulder. It was Helen’s father and they knew that their worries for that eventful night were over.