The camp behind the shoulder of the Black Reef was a dry camp.
Every drop of water had to be hauled in drums from Sewell's Farm.
The ox-wagon went in the morning and returned in the afternoon.
In this way we could haul just enough water to last the outfit
twenty-four hours. Special rules were inaugurated. Horses and
dogs were given the preference always, and one of the escaries
was detailed to guard the drums.
That night the wagon was long in returning from Sewell's. When it
finally arrived, the water in one of the drums had a strange
taste.
"It's bad," said Loveless.
Immediately the affair assumed grave proportions. That particular
drum became the most important object in camp. A feeling akin to
personal animosity sprang up against it. For a time the merits
and demerits of the case were seriously discussed, and some of
the porters gathered there and stared stupidly at the wagon load
of water.
"I'll tell you what it is," said Ulyate; "it's the weeds they've
used as a stopper."
The weeds in question were inspected closely and various
judgments passed, and some of the men were reminded of other
times in other lands when the water had turned bad on their
hands.
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