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“What did they say?” asked Bob, quickly. “Water?” put in Bob. “Gee whiz!” ejaculated Bob. “This is worse than anything I’ve tackled before—ever!”.

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It seemed rather pleasant to John, that his singing should be heard so far. Inside, Bob had been listening with wide open ears and his mind pictured the scene Jerry had left to find Mr. Whitney and filled out the holes the winded boy had left in his description. He knew the auxiliary spillway and the harm it could do if it should fail to carry its burden. It was a temporary affair of wood to be used only until a system of drains could be built to take care of the excess water that collected below the coffer dam. His mind’s eye saw Rutherford and Jerry at the dangerous place: Rutherford, young and inexperienced, doing what he could to avert disaster, but rattled, probably badly so. He wanted Mr. Whitney or somebody with practical knowledge and he had sent Jerry off to bring help. All Bob could do was to hope that the wall would hold. It was the first blow in the Mexican campaign and at all hazards it must be stopped. Bob knew this and the Indian at his side knew it. Miguel went farther and farther from them towards the center of the river. They could follow him with their eyes as his movements were clearly outlined in the white moonlight. There was no watchman on the coffer dam. There seemed no reason for one; yet Bob realized that a watchman was needed everywhere with this plot seething. Johnny Blossom ate plentifully, while the strange man sat opposite with elbows on the table, looking at him and smiling. Suddenly the man took out a leather case and from it a photograph, which he handed across the table to Johnny. It showed two boys about Johnny’s age. The man pointed to the boys and then to himself and smiled again, and Johnny understood that these were his boys..