He tugged his hat down tight and hunkered into his duster. He watched the trail with concern, although his vision was reduced by the gathering clouds blotting out the Sun. He feared too much rain too fast wouldn’t be absorbed by the ground and would turn the mountain trails into streams. And yet, despite the danger, he could see a magnificent oil painting. He visualized the slope of a mountain covered by thick trees, two lone riders hunkered over their horses, and driving rain slanting across the canvas. Maybe Belle had changed him or maybe getting healthy had opened his eyes to the beauty around him. Either way, he wanted to capture the wildness of Indian Territory before it was gone, ground down under the weight of civilization. He stowed away his vision for future use. First they had to survive the storm and get to Wildcat Falls. If they couldn’t make it, they’d have to dismount and lead their horses in on foot or seek shelter under the trees until the storm passed across the mountains.
