"That's all right," quoth Jed Parker. "Now, for sleeping places."
We scattered. Uncle Jim and Charley promptly annexed the slight
overhang of the cliff whence the deer had jumped. It was dry at
the moment, but we uttered pessimistic predictions if the wind
should change. Tom Rich and Jim Lester had a little tent, and
insisted on descending to the canon-bed.
"Got to cook there, anyways," said they, and departed with the
two pack mules and their bed horse.
That left the Cattleman, Windy Bill, Jed Parker, and me. In a
moment Windy Bill came up to us whispering and mysterious.
"Get your cavallos and follow me," said he.
We did so. He led us two hundred yards to another cave, twenty
feet high, fifteen feet in diameter, level as a floor.
"How's that?" he cried in triumph. "Found her just now while I
was rustling nigger-heads for a fire."
We unpacked our beds with chuckles of joy, and spread them
carefully within the shelter of the cave. Except for the very
edges, which did not much matter, our blankets and "so-guns,"
protected by the canvas "tarp," were reasonably dry. Every once
in a while a spasm of conscience would seize one or the other of
us.
"It seems sort of mean on the other fellows," ruminated Jed
Parker.
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