Then she had ripped a square of silk from the cloak which
she had shaped cunningly like a deep pocket, binding it securely into
the fiber rim by thrusting holes through the silk and running bits of
the green fiber through like pack thread. The final result looked
something less like a bucket than some strange oriole's hanging nest.
"It _will_ hold water," vowed Betty, ready for argument. "I've worn
bathing caps of a lot poorer grade of silk and never a drop got
through. Besides I put a thickness of silk, then a layer of these
broad leaves, then another piece of silk, to make sure."
"Fine," he said. "Yes, it will hold water for a while. But it's a
long time from daylight until dark, and I'm afraid----"
"As if I hadn't thought of that!" said Betty. "I knew that if I looked
around I'd find something. I thought of your boots, of course; and I
thought of your rifle barrel. But you'll need the boots and may need
the gun. Come and I'll show you our reservoir."
She put a handful of leaves and twigs on the fire for the sake of more
light, and led the way toward the narrowing fissure further back in
their retreat. Here she stopped before a great rudely egg-shaped
boulder five or six feet through that lay in a shallow depression in
the ground.
"Our water bottle," said Betty.
He supposed that she referred to the depression in the rock floor,
since the boulder did not fit in it so exactly as to preclude the
possibility of the big rude basin holding water.
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