CHAPTER XV.
We can all remember certain experiences that fill us with incredulity even while we admit that the facts could be proved before a jury of twelve men.
So Casey Ryan, having lost his outfit and come so near to death that he could barely keep his feet under him, walked into a tent and stood there thinking it couldn't be true.
A folding camp chair stood near the opening, and Casey sat down from sheer weakness while he looked about him.

The tent was a twelve-by-fourteen, which is a bit larger than one usually carries in a pack outfit.

It had a canvas floor soiled in strips where the most walking had been done, but white under table and beds, which proved its newness.

Casey was not accustomed to seeing tents floored with canvas, and he stared at it for a full half-minute before his eyes went to other things.
There was a folding camp table of the kind shown in the window display of sporting-goods stores, but which seasoned campers find too wobbly for actual comfort.

The varnish still shone on legs and braces, which helped to prove its newness.