"She was clear grit, you bet! And the joke caught on and the other
girls jined in, and it kinder cheered 'em, for they was wantin' it. Then
Fludder allowed to pacify 'em by sayin' he just figured up the size o'
the reservoir and the size o' the canyon, and he kalkilated that the
cube was about ekal, and the canyon couldn't flood any more. And then
Lulu--who was peart as a jay and couldn't be fooled--speaks up and says,
'What's the matter with the ditch, Dick?'

"Lord! then we knew that she knew the worst; for of course all the water
in the ditch itself--fifty miles of it!--was drainin' now into that
reservoir and was bound to come down to the canyon."

It was at this point that the situation became really desperate, for
they had now crawled up the steep sides as far as the bushes afforded
foothold, and the water was still rising. The chatter of the girls
ceased, there were long silences, in which the men discussed the wildest
plans, and proposed to tear their shirts into strips to make ropes to
support the girls by sticks driven into the mountain side. It was in
one of those intervals that the distinct strokes of a woodman's axe were
heard high on the upland at the point where the trail descended to the
canyon. Every ear was alert, but only those on one side of the canyon
could get a fair view of the spot. This was the good fortune of Captain
Fairfax and Georgy Piper, who had climbed to the highest bush on that
side, and were now standing up, gazing excitedly in that direction.

"Some one is cutting down a tree at the head of the trail," shouted
Fairfax. The response and joyful explanation, "for a dam across the
trail," was on everybody's lips at the same time.

But the strokes of the axe were slow and painfully intermittent.