“After all, we have not gained much by staying at the Mission over night, for another storm is coming and we better hurry to some place of shelter or we shall all be drenched to the skin,” remarked Henry West, as he casually glanced over his shoulder toward the Southwestern horizon, where an ominous looking rain-cloud was rapidly rising. As he had predicted the day before, a heavy rain began just as they were about to re-saddle the horses to return to _HW_ ranch. The morning dawned soft and warm; fresh from the washed hillsides came the ozone; the east was filled with fiery, red clouds, which warned them that the rain was not yet all spilled upon the thirsty earth. How green the stretch of grazing land looked; how verdant the distant pines and firs, fresh from nature’s bath! The dust in the wagon road was all gone, and now occasionally the horses splashed with delight through mud puddles. “Mauchacho, if you spatter my go-to-meeting riding togs you’ll get your ears pulled,” Bess said to her horse. She had not heard West’s remark regarding the weather for she was in an abstracted mood. “Hold on a moment, boys,” she cried after the two. They had given their horses rein, thinking she was aware of the coming storm, and were riding swiftly to where they might be kept dry, for a time at least. Just then Bess noticed the light becoming dimmed. Hastily glancing back she saw the hurrying rain and was greeted by a splash of heralding drops. “Oh, so that’s the hurry! Come, Mauchacho, it’s up to you to keep me dry and save this green gown from making a blot on the already verdant landscape,” she said whimsically, and the horse, as if he understood, in haste to overtake his fleeing companions, sped like the bird he really was and reached the sheltering, overhanging rock before the others. As the trio dismounted each drew the reins over his horse’s head, and so left them, where they stood as quietly as if they were tied. Quickly the saddles were taken off their steaming backs and placed under the shelter of the rocks. Bess and James were already safely out of the rain, and the girl was impatiently jumping up and down urging Henry West to “hurry for pity’s sake” or else he would be drowned. As West crouched under the ledge he took off his broad hat and shook the rain from it, saying: “These things are nearly as good as an umbrella; aren’t they, James?” “Come under here closer, Henry; you are not out of the rain yet,” said Bess. She took hold of his arm and pulled him close to her. So they stood, the fresh, rosy, smiling girl, with wilful brown tresses over her face, clinging to the dark, stalwart man on one side and to her fair-skinned brother on the other. Silently they watched the rain, which fell in gusty sheets. The horses had shifted and stood dejectedly with their tails against the increasing onslaughts.