At the Dike
are both wet; I know it. Your feet must be wet. Come to the fire. O Bill!” he called to Dancing, “what’s the matter with your wood? Let us have a fire, won’t you?—one worth while; and build another in front of my tent. I can’t believe you have ridden here all the way from the ranch, two of you alone!” exclaimed McCloud, hastening boxes up to the fire for seats.
Marion laughed. “Dicksie can go anywhere! I couldn’t have ridden from the house to the barns alone.”
“Then tell me how you could do it?” demanded McCloud, devouring Dicksie with his eyes.
Dicksie looked at the fire. “I know all the roads pretty well. We did get lost once,” she confessed in a low voice, “but we got out again.”
“The roads are all under water, though.”
“What time is it, please?”
McCloud looked at his watch. “Two minutes past twelve.”
Dicksie started. “Past twelve? Oh, this is dreadful! We must start right back, Marion. I had no idea we had been five hours coming five miles.”
McCloud looked at her, as if still unable to comprehend what she had accomplished in crossing the flooded bottoms. Her eyes fell back to the fire.
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