"Look yonder! You'd not have time now to reach camp." In the high country a great prairie fire usually or quite often was followed by a heavy rainstorm.

What Banion now indicated was the approach of yet another of the epic phenomena of the prairies, as rapid, as colossal and as merciless as the fire itself.
On the western horizon a low dark bank of clouds lay for miles, piled, serrated, steadily rising opposite to the course of the wind that had driven the fire.

Along it more and more visibly played almost incessant sheet lightning, broken with ripping zigzag flames.

A hush had fallen close at hand, for now even the frightened breeze of evening had fled.
Now and then, at first doubtful, then unmistakable and continuous, came the mutter and rumble and at length the steady roll of thunder.
They lay full in the course of one of the tremendous storms of the high country, and as the cloud bank rose and came on swiftly, spreading its flanking wings so that nothing might escape, the spectacle was terrifying almost as much as that of the fire, for, unprotected, as they were, they could make no counter battle against the storm.
The air grew supercharged with electricity.

It dripped, literally, from the barrel of Banion's pistol when he took it from its holster to carry it to the wagon.