living in town had softened his muscles and slowed a little that
untiring energy which had balked at no hardship. He was drowsy,
and his brain stopped thinking logically and slipped into
half-waking fancy.

The Joshua seemed to move, to lift its arm and point more
imperatively toward the peak. Its ungainly head seemed to turn
and nod at Casey. What did the darned thing want? Casey would go
when he, got good and ready. Perhaps he would go that way, and
perhaps he would not. Right here was good enough for Casey Ryan
at present; and you could ask anybody if he were the man to
follow another man's pointing, much less a Joshua tree.

Battering rain woke Casey some hours later and drove him to the
shelter of the Ford. Thunder and lightning came with the rain,
and a bellowing wind that rocked the car and threatened once or
twice to overturn it. With some trouble Casey managed to button
down the curtains and sat huddled on the front seat, watching
through a streaming windshield the buffeted wilderness. He was
glad he had not unloaded his outfit; gladder still that the storm
had not struck which he was traveling. Down the trail toward him
a small river galloped, washing deep gullies where the wheels of
his car offered obstruction to its boisterousness.

"She's a tough one," grinned Casey, in spite of the chattering of
his teeth. "Looks like all the water in the world is bein'
poured down this pass. Keeps on, I'll have to gouge out a couple
of Joshuays an' turn the old Ford into a boat--but Casey'll keep
agoin'!"