"What d'ye mean—afloat?" demanded Kingdon, sitting up.
"Water's dripping ri-right into my ear," wailed Hicks.
"Ahoy! She's sprung a leak! Man the lifeboats!" came from Red Phillips. "All hands to the pumps."
Then they heard something which at first they thought was the rain increasing. It seemed to be rushing down the hill upon them in a regular flood. Then, with a rumble and roar that seemed to rock the earth itself, an avalanche fell upon the plateau.
Kingdon sprang up, seized the lantern that was burning low, turned up the wick, and got outside as quickly as possible. Midkiff was at his heels. In bare feet, they slopped through the two-inch flood that ran all around the tent. The rain was pouring steadily down. Through the darkness and the downpour they saw, just about where the tent had formerly stood, a bulky object around which the rain smoked.
"Mercy, Rex! What is it?" Midkiff gasped.
"The bowlder," Kingdon said in a muffled, almost choky voice.
"Bowlder?"
"It overhung the camp. I—I was afraid of it. That's why I had the tent shifted."
"Good boy!" Midkiff patted his shoulder. "Your hunch saved us."