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Updated: May 8, 2025
A gauntleted hand fumbled for a moment with the slicker behind the cantle, and extended a flask. "It's water. I figured someone would get thirsty." The girl drank from the flask and returned it: "If there are posses out won't they watch the water-holes? You said there are only a few in the bad lands." "Yes, they'll watch the water-holes.
The dark, handsome face that turned to see who was coming would have been a very attractive one except for its look of sulky rebellion. From the mop of black hair tendrils had escaped and brushed the wet cheeks flushed by the sting of the rain. The girl rode splendidly. Even the slicker that she wore could not disguise the flat back and the erect carriage of the slender body.
The storms of the foothill country, which occasionally sweep out of the mountains and down the valleys on the shortest notice, had no terror for him; he had sat on horseback under an oilskin slicker through the worst of them; but to-night! Even as he watched, the distant glare of lightning threw the heaving proportions of the thundercloud into sharp relief.
He named every citizen of the town, living or dead, that ever got to be known outside his own family, and he brought children into the world and married them and read the funeral service over them, and still that bonehead from the woods sat there, his mouth open, and says: 'It's beyond me how you know all that. You New Yorkers are slicker then I give ye credit for. But you can't fool me.
She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at the sky. "We're in for a storm. You'd ought 'o have a slicker, no fancy 'raincoat, but a real old-fashioned cow-puncher's oilskin. They make a business of shedding rain. Leather's no good, neither is canvas; I've tried 'em all." She rode on for a few minutes in silence, as if disgusted with his folly, but she was really worrying about him.
He had not even thrown off his slicker in the fording of the stream there had been no time for even that small delay if he wished to save Strann. And now he was throwing back the folds of the garment to leave free play for his arms.
The cook rigged up a tarpaulin over his little stove and stood there muttering and frying. He had refused to don a slicker, and his red sweater, soaking up the rain, grew heavy with moisture and began to stretch. Down it crept, down and down. The cook straightened up from his frying-pan and looked at it. Then he said: "There, little sweater, don't you cry; You'll be a blanket by and by."
The slicker was an overhead affair, and she had to take off her hat to get free. This act tumbled her hair about considerably, and Jane Norman's hair was her glory. It was the tint of the copper beech, thick, finespun, with intermittent twists that gave it a wavy effect. Jane was not beautiful; that is, her face was not it was comely. It was her hair that turned male heads.
The air grew bitingly chill. Collie wished that one of the boys would bring him something to eat. The foreman surely knew where he was. Collie could imagine the boys joking about him over their evening "chuck." With the darkness he drew on his slicker and squatted by the fire. He fell asleep. He awoke shivering, to find the embers dull. The stars were intensely brilliant and large.
"What does Peaches Austin work at?" he pursued, thinking that it might be well to learn what he could of the enemy's habits. "He deals another game in the Happy Heart." "'The hand is quicker than the eye," he quoted, cynically, recalling what the stranger had said to Punch-the-breeze Thompson. "Oh, Peaches is slick enough," said she, comprehending instantly. "But Nebraska is slicker.
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