At present we had no more than enough water—sometimes hardly enough—to irrigate our crops, but by doubling the supply we could bring into use another hundred acres or more. On either side of our present cultivated area, and only three feet above it, spread the first of the old lake-benches, a fine, level tract of land, capable of growing any crop, but which, for lack of water, we had hitherto utilized only as a dry pasture for our stock. By a test we had once made of a little patch of it, we had found that it was well adapted to the cultivation of wheat; and as I lay there thinking—Joe having by this time departed to the land of dreams—I pictured in my mind the whole area converted into one flourishing wheat-field; I built a castle in the air in the shape of a flour-mill which I ran by power derived from our waterfall; and with a two-ton load of flour I was in imagination driving down to San Remo over the splendid road which traversed the now solid “forty rods,”when a light shining in my face disturbed me.
It was the sun pouring in at our east window!
Half-past seven! And we still in bed! Such a thing had not happened to me since that time when, a rebellious infant, I had been kept in bed perforce with a light attack of the measles.
Needless to say, we were up and dressed in next to no time, when, on descending to the kitchen, we found another surprise in store for us. Peter was gone! He must have been gone some hours, too, for the fire in the range had burned out. He had not deserted us, however, for on the table was a bit of paper upon which he had written, “Back pretty soon. Wait for me“—a behest we duly obeyed, not knowing what else to do.
About an hour later I heard the trampling of horses outside the front door, and going out, there I saw Peter stiffly descending from the back of our gray pony; while beside him, with a broad grin on his jolly face, stood Tom Connor.
“Why, Tom!”I cried. “What brings you here?”
Tom laughed. “Didn’t expect to see me, eh, Phil,”said he. “It’s Peter’s doing. While you two lazy young rascals were snoring away in bed, he started out at four-thirty this morning and rode all the way up to my camp to borrow my tools for you. And when he told me what you wanted ’em for, I decided to come down, too. You did me a good turn in finding the Big Reuben for me—and ‘big’ is the word for it, Phil, I can tell you—and so I thought I couldn’t do less than come down here for a day or two and give you a hand. It’s probable I can help you a good bit with your trench-cutting.”
“There’s no doubt about that, Tom,”I replied. “We shall be mighty glad of your help. You can give us a starter, anyhow. But you, Peter, we couldn’t think what had become of you. Don’t you think it was a bit risky to go galloping about the country with that game leg of yours?”
“I couldn’t very well go without it,”replied our guest, laughing. “No, I don’t think so,”he added, more seriously. “It was easy enough, all except the mounting and dismounting. In fact, Phil, I’m so nearly all right again that I should have no excuse to be hanging around here any longer if it were not that I can be of use to you by taking all the chores off your hands, thus leaving you and Joe free to get about your work in the crater.”
“That will be a great help,”I replied. “Though as to letting you go, Peter, we don’t intend to do that, at least till my father and mother get home.”