Whispering Smith
ning waved his hand at the lively scene. “They’ve been at it all night. How many would you take away, sir?”
“You might take them all away, as far as the river is concerned,” said McCloud after a moment.
“What? Hell! All?”
“They are not doing anything, are they, but running around in a circle? And those fellows over there might as well be making mud pies as riprapping at that point. What we need there is a mattress and sandbags—and plenty of them. Bill,” directed McCloud in an even tone of business as he turned to Dancing, “see how quick you can get your gangs over here with what sacks they can carry and walk fast. If you will put your men on horses, Mr. Dunning, they can help like everything. That bank won’t last a great while the way the river is getting under it now.” Dancing wheeled like an elephant on his bronco and clattered away through the mud. Lance Dunning, recovering from his surprise, started his men back for the wagons, and McCloud, dismounting, walked with him to the water’s edge to plan the fight for what was left of the strip in front of the alfalfa fields.
When Whispering Smith got back to the house he was in good-humor. He joined Dicksie and Marion in the dining-room, where they were drink-
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