Hollister looked up. The speaker was the cowboy Dusty, who had once dragged him back to the Diamond Bar K ranch at the end of a rope. One of the others he recognized as the lank rider Burt, who also had been present on that occasion.
“Lucky you were here,” the rescued man said. “I was all in.”
“Tha’s twice I done roped you,” Dusty reminded him. “I sure got bawled out proper last time. Say, howcome you in this Arctic Ocean, anyhow?”
“I was trying to reach Betty Reed. She’s in a broken bit of the house at the Steeples. At least some one is.”
“It’s her all right. We drifted down here ’bout an hour ago. She’s been singin’.”
“Singing?”
“Hymns. ‘How Firm a Foundation,’ an’ like that. Her an’ the kid an’ Mandy. Say, fellow, it’s been one heluva night if any one asks you.”
Burt spoke. “Was you tryin’ to swim to where Miss Betty’s at? You’ve got guts. You didn’t hardly have a chanct with all the water in the hills a-b’ilin’ down.”
“She can’t be far from here if you heard her sing.”
“Not fur. Mebbe a hundred yards. Mebbe twice that fur. But I wouldn’t tackle that swim for a million dollars. I never claimed to be no fish,” Dusty explained.