Outside was thick darkness, and the swish and rush and roar of rising waters.
Listening, Windy Bill was reminded of a story.

We leaned back comfortably against the sloping walls of the cave, thrust our feet toward the blaze, smoked, and hearkened to the tale of Windy Bill.
There's a tur'ble lot of water running loose here, but I've seen the time and place where even what is in that drip would be worth a gold mine.

That was in the emigrant days.

They used to come over south of here, through what they called Emigrant Pass, on their way to Californy.

I was a kid then, about eighteen year old, and what I didn't know about Injins and Agency cattle wasn't a patch of alkali.