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.