"This jerk wouldn't even give me a chance to pack a toothbrush," she returned vindictively.
Fortunately, she was dressed in slacks. After a futile attempt to negotiate the mud in her high-heeled shoes, she left them sticking in the ooze.
"I'll take it bare-footed," she observed philosophically.
Less from chivalry than curiosity, Marlin helped her when she stumbled and assisted her over the deeper puddles. He decided, in the process, that she was firm-fleshed and well-formed. After the first few yards she refused his help.
"Keep your muddy paws off of me!" she snapped. "You too!" as McGruder attempted to thrust his bulk between them.
They plodded on through the mud and drizzle. The road climbed upward at an agonizing grade. Marlin no longer cursed. In the presence of companions in misery, he became tauntingly ironical. It was they who were buffeted and tormented—he was the strong man, unaffected by the elements, able to "take it."
"We shoulda stayed in the car," growled McGruder.
"Only room for two of us," returned Marlin. "Want to go back with me, Sal?"
"Not if I know what I'm doing!" the girl snapped, brushing a lock of wet hair out of her eyes.
Topping a steep rise, they came unexpectedly upon the shelter.