THE PALM OASES AND CANONS 23 



mands and wondrously repays. The rain continued, 

 taking on the industrious look that Cahfornians 

 know and love as forecasting a successful season in 

 real estate. At intervals I brought in fuel, storing it 

 in dry crannies of the cave. 



Kaweah, protected by his heavy blanket, was tied 

 close to the creek, under a tree against which I had 

 built his manger. Darkness came early, and the rain 

 increased to a heavy downpour. I ate supper in 

 dusk, fed and watered the horse, covered the hay 

 with a tarpaulin, and turned into the blankets on 

 my camp-cot to smoke a pipe. This proved more 

 than usually cheering. A tent with sousing rain were 

 revealed as the ideal conditions for the combustion 

 of Virginia Long-Cut. This discovery I had oppor- 

 tunity to confirm in the days that ensued. 



Before turning in finally I lighted the lantern and 

 took a look at the creek. It had risen a few inches, 

 as was natural in a cafion stream, but the tent was 

 six or eight feet above it and a rod back from the 

 bank. Nothing to worry about, so I went to bed, 

 and, lulled by the roar of rain on the canvas, was 

 soon fast asleep. 



This placidity was ill-judged. Some suffocating > 

 object, something heavy and wet and cold, came 

 down and embraced me with what I felt to be undue 

 familiarity. For a few moments I was puzzled, then 

 realized — the tent: it had sagged with weight of 

 water and the pegs had pulled from the softened 

 ground. I noticed, too, that the sound of rushing 

 water was oddly close. Pushing away the wet can- 

 vas I put out a foot. Instead of the expected boot it 



