"
Passing through some pine woods I heard the soughing of the tree-tops.
They were entreating the rain to come--to come quickly. How well I
knew that soft, sibilant invocation! Higher up the few tufts of bunch
grass that remained rustled in anticipation. On the top of the
mountain, in ordinary years a sure sign of a coming storm, floated a
veil of opaline sea mist ...
I found Pap and a greaser skinning a dead heifer. Pap nodded sulkily,
thinking of his hay and his beans and bacon.
"What's up?" he growled.
"It's going to rain," said I.
"Ye ain't ridden from Paradise to tell me that. An' rain's not a-
comin', either. 'Twould be a miracle if it did. How's folks? I heard
as things couldn't be worse."
"They are bad," said I. "Eubank's sister-in-law and two children are
dead. Judge Spragg has lost four. In all about sixteen children have
gone and five adults. That's Paradise alone; in the foothills----"
"What brings you here?"
It seemed hopeless to soften this hardened old man. I had thought of a
dozen phrases wherewith to soap the ways, so to speak, down which
might be launched my petition.
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