We laughed, threw off our blankets, stretched, and fed
the fire.
A thick acrid smoke filled the air. The Cattleman, rising, left
a trail of incandescent footprints. We investigated hastily, and
discovered that the supposed earth on the slant of the cave was
nothing more than bat guano, tons of it. The fire, eating its
way beneath, had rendered untenable its immediate vicinity. We
felt as though we were living over a volcano. How soon our
ledge, of the same material, might be attacked, we had no means
of knowing. Overcome with drowsiness, we again disposed our
blankets, resolved to get as many naps as possible before even
these constrained quarters were taken from us.
This happened sooner and in a manner otherwise than we had
expected. Windy Bill brought us to consciousness by a wild yell.
Consciousness reported to us a strange, hurried sound like the
long roll on a drum. Investigation showed us that this cave,
too, had sprung a leak; not with any premonitory drip, but all at
once, as though someone had turned on a faucet. In ten seconds a
very competent streamlet six inches wide had eroded a course down
through the guano, past the fire and to the outer slope. And by
the irony of fate that one--and only one--leak in all the roof
expanse of a big cave was directly over one end of our tiny
ledge.
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