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. The Cattleman laughed. "Reminds me of the old farmer and his kind friend," said he. "Kind friend hunts up the old farmer in the village. "'John,' says he, 'I've bad news for you. Your barn has burned up.' "'My Lord!' says the farmer. "'But that ain't the worst. Your cow was burned, too.' "'My Lord!' says the farmer. "'But that ain't the worst. Your horses were burned.' "'My Lord!' says the farmer. "'But, that ain't the worst. The barn set fire to the house, and it was burned--total loss.' "'My Lord!' groans the farmer. "'But that ain't the worst. Your wife and child were killed, too.' "'At that the farmer began to roar with laughter. "'Good heavens, man!' cries his friend, astonished, 'what in the world do you find to laugh at in that?' "'Don't you see?' answers the farmer. 'Why, it's so darn COMPLETE!' "Well," finished the Cattleman, "that's what strikes me about our case; it's so darn complete!" "What time is it?" asked Windy Bill. "Midnight," I announced. "Lord! Six hours to day!" groaned Windy Bill. "How'd you like to be doin' a nice quiet job at gardenin' in the East where you could belly up to the bar reg'lar every evenin', and drink a pussy cafe and smoke tailor-made cigareets?" "You wouldn't like it a bit," put in the Cattleman with decision; whereupon in proof he told us the following story: Windy has mentioned Gentleman Tim, and that reminded me of the first time I ever saw him. He was an Irishman all right, but he had been educated in England, and except for his accent he was more an Englishman than anything else. A freight outfit brought him into Tucson from Santa Fe and dumped him down on the plaza, where at once every idler in town gathered to quiz him.