“I’m lying in a marsh!” he cried.
He struck a light, and we all saw the water trickling in a dozen little streams beneath the edge of the tent.
373“We’re going to be ruined!” cried Johnny comically.
He arose, and in doing so brushed his head violently against the slanting canvas roof. Almost immediately thereafter the rays of the lantern were reflected from tiny beads of water, like a sweat, appearing as though by magic at that spot. They swelled, gathered, hesitated, then began to feel their way slowly down the dry canvas. The trickle became a stream. A large drop fell straight down. Another followed.
“Anybody need a drink?” inquired Cal.
“I’m sorry!” said Johnny contritely.
“You needn’t be,” I consoled him. “The whole thing is going to leak, if this keeps up.”
“What’s the matter with going over to the Moreña cabin?” queried Yank.
We hesitated a little. The events of the day had affected us all more deeply than we liked to acknowledge; and nobody but Yank much liked the idea of again entering that blood-stained abode.
“We’d drown getting there,” said Cal at last. “I move some of you fellows with two good arms rustle out and fix that ditch.” He laughed. “Nothing like having a hole in you to get out of work.”