Our Texan northers are fierce when they come along; but here it blows all the time." "We'll make camp, if you like; I don't feel very fresh," Blake replied.
"Not here," snapped Harding.

"Where I stop I sleep, and I'm not particularly enthusiastic about sheltering under the cart.

Last time we tried it the pony stampeded and the wheel went over my foot.

The tent's no good; you'd want a chain to stop its blowing away.

We'll go on until we bring up to lee of a big, solid bluff." "Very well," Blake agreed.