Aren't we having an awful time? she whispered.Indiscreet? she lil wyte oxy cotton repeated monotonously.Then at a sharp turn in the trail, magically, in a pale, transient flicker of light, loomed little Eve Edgarton's boyish figure, drenched to the skin apparently, wind driven, rain battered, but with hands in her pockets, slouch hat rakishly askew, strolling as nonchalantly down that ghastly trail as a child might come strolling down a stained glassed, Persian carpeted stairway to meet an expected guest.The first thud was a slim, queer, stone lil wyte oxy cotton flagon of vodka.Why, down in the Transvaal two years ago, she explained painstakingly, why, down in the Transvaal two years ago they called me the best chaperoned girl in Africa.Then man and beast as one flesh, as one mind, went bolting back through the rain lil wyte oxy cotton drenched, wind ravished thicket to find their mates.And we live in such wild places! Casually she bent over and pushed the protruding butt of her revolver a trifle farther down into her riding boot.Oh, Father'll say What in creation is Eve out trying to lil wyte oxy cotton save to night? A dog? A cat? A three legged deer? Well, what do you expect to save? quizzed Barton a bit tartly.Wanly, like some far pinnacle on some far Russian fortress, its grim shape loomed in the sallow lantern light.Thuddingly she set down the empty lil wyte oxy cotton beef jar.In fact, hissed Barton through clenched teeth, in fact I know it's the hottest day I ever knew! Really? droned Eve Edgarton.My mother's lil wyte oxy cotton dead, you know.Barton! she called listlessly over the other, and started on, stumblingly, clatteringly, up the abruptly steep and precipitous mountain trail a little dust colored gnome on a dust colored horse, with the dutiful gray pinking cautiously along behind her.