He clasped his great hands about his knee, and stared sullenly at
the surrounding ramparts of red and brown granite, dully noting the
fantastic layers, the huge round stones that for ages had been about
to roll down into the valley but had never started, and others cut
in odd shapes placed one upon another in columns along the
perpendicular wall. The sun beat on the long matted hair of his
bared head, but the ceaseless wind brought relief from its pelting
rays. He, however, was conscious neither of the heat nor of the
refreshing touch.

At last he rose slowly to his towering legs and picked up the spade.
"You're a fool, Brick Willock," he said harshly. "Ain't you got
that well to dig? And then can't you go for your kaig and bring it
here, and carry it back full of fresh water? Dinged if there ain't
enough doings in your world to furnish out a daily newspaper!" He
began to dig, adding in an altered tone: "And Brick, HE says--
'Nothing ain't come to the worst, as long as you're living,' says
Brick!"

He was proud of the well when it was completed; the water was cold
and soft as it oozed up through clean sand, and the walls of
mud-mortised rocks promised permanency. One did not have to
penetrate far into the bottom-lands of that cove to find water which
for unnumbered years had rushed down the mountainside in time of
rain-storms to lie, a vast underground reservoir, for the coming of
man. Willock could reach the surface of the well by lying on his
stomach and scooping with his long arm. He duly carried out his
program, and when the keg was filled with fresh water, it was time
for dinner.