e surface earth had been washed away, leaving the skeleton of
the mountain bare. Some of the more slightly rooted trees had fallen,
or clung precariously to the earth with bony fingers. But the gulch
itself was terrible. The mountain laurel, the elders, the sarvis
bushes, the wild roses which, a few days before, had been fragrant and
beautiful with blossom and leaf and musical with birds, had
disappeared. In their stead rolled an angry brown flood whirling in
almost unbroken surface from bank to bank. Several oaks, submerged to
their branches, raised their arms helplessly. As Bennington looked,
one of these bent slowly and sank from sight. A moment later it shot
with great suddenness half its length into the air, was seized by the
eager waters, and whisked away as lightly as though it had been a tree
of straw. Dark objects began to come down with the stream. They seemed
to be trying to preserve a semblance of dignity in their stately
bobbing up and down, but apparently found the attempt difficult. The
roar was almost deafening, but even above it a strangely deliberate
grinding noise was audible. Old Mizzou said it was the grating of
boulders as they were rolled along the bed of the stream. The yellow
glow had disappeared from the air, and the gloom of rain had taken its
place.

A fine mist began to fall. Bennington for the first time realized he
was wet and shivering, and so he turned inside to change his clothes.

"It'll all be over in a few hours," remarked Arthur. "I reckon them
Spanish Gulch people'll wish they lived up-stream."

Bennington paused at the doorway.

"That's so," he commented. "How about Spanish Gulch? Will it all be
drowned out?"

"No, I reckon not," replied Arthur. "They'll get wet down a lot, and
have wet blankets to sleep in to-night, that's all. You see the gulch
spraddles out down there, an' then too all this timber'll jam down this
gulch a-ways. That'll back up th' water some, and so she won't come all
of a rush."

"I see," said Bennington.

The afternoon was well enough occupied in repairing to some extent the
ravages of the brief storm. A length of the corral had succumbed to the
flood, many valuable tools in the blacksmith shop were in danger of
rust from the dampness, and Arthur and his wife had been completely
washed out. All three men worked hard setting things to rights. The
twilight caught them before their work was done.

Bennington found himself too weary to attempt an unknow