"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 drinking coffee. Afterward Dicksie ordered horses saddled and the three rode to the river. Up and down the bank as far as they could see in the misty rain, men were moving slowly about--more men, it seemed to Dicksie, than she had ever seen together in her life. The confusion and the noise had disappeared. No one appeared to hurry, but every one had something to do, and, from the gangs who with sledges were sinking "dead-men" among the trees to hold the cables of the mattress that was about to be sunk, and the Japs who were diligently preparing to float and load it, to the men that were filling and wheeling the sandbags, no one appeared excited. McCloud joined the visitors for a few moments and then went back to where Dancing and his men on life-lines were guiding the mattress to its resting-place. In spite of the gloom of the rain, which Whispering Smith said was breaking, Dicksie rode back to the house in much better spirits with her two guests; and when they came from luncheon the sun, as Smith had predicted, was shining. "Oh, come out!" cried Dicksie, at the door. Marion had a letter to write and went upstairs, but Whispering Smith followed Dicksie. "Does everything you say come true?" she demanded as she stood in the sunshine. She was demure with light-heartedness and he looked at her approvingly. "I hope nothing I may say ever will come true unless it makes you happy," he answered lightly. "It would be a shame if it did anything else." She pointed two accusing fingers at him. "Do you know what you promised last night? You have forgotten already! You said you would tell me why my leghorns are eating their feathers off." "Let me talk with them."