He lighted the fire hurriedly and stood backed close before it, listening to the rage of the wind.

He was growing very tired of the monotony of winter; he could no longer see any beauty in the high-turreted, snow-clad hills, nor the bare, red faces of the cliffs frowning down upon him.
"I don't suppose you could see to the river bank," he mused, "and Gene will certainly tear the third commandment to shreds before he gets the water-hole open." He went over to the window, meaning to scratch a peep-hole in the frost, just as he had done every day for the past three months; lifted a hand, then stopped bewildered.

For instead of frost there was only steam with ridges of ice yet clinging to the sash and dripping water in a tiny rivulet.

He wiped the steam hastily away with his palm and looked out.
"Good heavens, Gene!" he shouted in a voice to wake the Seven Sleepers.
"The world's gone mad overnight.

Are you dead, man?
Get up and look out.
The whole damn country is running water, and the hills are bare as this floor!" "Uh-huh!" Gene knuckled his eyes and sat up.