"I'll take a rubber coat," answered Annixter."Bring the horse up to the ranch house when you're ready."Annixter returned to the house to look for his rubber coat in deep disgust, not permitting himself to glance toward the dairy-house and the Trees' cottage.But as he reached the porch he heard the telephone ringing his call.It was Presley, who rang up from Los Muertos.He had heard from Harran that Annixter was, perhaps, coming over that evening.If he came, would he mind bringing over his--Presley's--bicycle.He had left it at the Quien Sabe ranch the day before and had forgotten to come back that way for it.
"Well," objected Annixter, a surly note in his voice, "I WASgoing to RIDE over."
"Oh, never mind, then," returned Presley easily."I was to blame for forgetting it.Don't bother about it.I'll come over some of these days and get it myself."Annixter hung up the transmitter with a vehement wrench and stamped out of the room, banging the door.He found his rubber coat hanging in the hallway and swung into it with a fierce movement of the shoulders that all but started the seams.
Everything seemed to conspire to thwart him.It was just like that absent-minded, crazy poet, Presley, to forget his wheel.
Well, he could come after it himself.He, Annixter, would ride SOME horse, anyhow.When he came out upon the porch he saw the wheel leaning against the fence where Presley had left it.If it stayed there much longer the rain would catch it.Annixter ripped out an oath.At every moment his ill-humour was increasing.Yet, for all that, he went back to the stable, pushing the bicycle before him, and countermanded his order, directing the stableman to get the buggy ready.He himself carefully stowed Presley's bicycle under the seat, covering it with a couple of empty sacks and a tarpaulin carriage cover.
While he was doing this, the stableman uttered an exclamation and paused in the act of backing the horse into the shafts, holding up a hand, listening.
From the hollow roof of the barn and from the thick velvet-like padding of dust over the ground outside, and from among the leaves of the few nearby trees and plants there came a vast, monotonous murmur that seemed to issue from all quarters of the horizon at once, a prolonged and subdued rustling sound, steady, even, persistent.
"There's your rain," announced the stableman."The first of the season.""And I got to be out in it," fumed Annixter, "and I suppose those swine will quit work on the big barn now."When the buggy was finally ready, he put on his rubber coat, climbed in, and without waiting for the stableman to raise the top, drove out into the rain, a new-lit cigar in his teeth.As he passed the dairy-house, he saw Hilma standing in the doorway, holding out her hand to the rain, her face turned upward toward the grey sky, amused and interested at this first shower of the wet season.She was so absorbed that she did not see Annixter, and his clumsy nod in her direction passed unnoticed.
"She did it on purpose," Annixter told himself, chewing fiercely on his cigar."Cuts me now, hey?Well, this DOES settle it.
She leaves this ranch before I'm a day older."He decided that he would put off his tour of inspection till the next day.Travelling in the buggy as he did, he must keep to the road which led to Derrick's, in very roundabout fashion, by way of Guadalajara.This rain would reduce the thick dust of the road to two feet of viscid mud.It would take him quite three hours to reach the ranch house on Los Muertos.He thought of Delaney and the buckskin and ground his teeth.And all this trouble, if you please, because of a fool feemale girl.A fine way for him to waste his time.Well, now he was done with it.
His decision was taken now.She should pack.
Steadily the rain increased.There was no wind.The thick veil of wet descended straight from sky to earth, blurring distant outlines, spreading a vast sheen of grey over all the landscape.
Its volume became greater, the prolonged murmuring note took on a deeper tone.At the gate to the road which led across Dyke's hop-fields toward Guadalajara, Annixter was obliged to descend and raise the top of the buggy.In doing so he caught the flesh of his hand in the joint of the iron elbow that supported the top and pinched it cruelly.It was the last misery, the culmination of a long train of wretchedness.On the instant he hated Hilma Tree so fiercely that his sharply set teeth all but bit his cigar in two.
While he was grabbing and wrenching at the buggy-top, the water from his hat brim dripping down upon his nose, the horse, restive under the drench of the rain, moved uneasily.
"Yah-h-h you!" he shouted, inarticulate with exasperation."You--you--Gor-r-r, wait till I get hold of you.WHOA, you!"But there was an interruption.Delaney, riding the buckskin, came around a bend in the road at a slow trot and Annixter, getting into the buggy again, found himself face to face with him.
"Why, hello, Mr.Annixter," said he, pulling up."Kind of sort of wet, isn't it?"Annixter, his face suddenly scarlet, sat back in his place abruptly, exclaiming:
"Oh--oh, there you are, are you?"
