oves, causing him to shy again, this time into a bulky vizcaya, as big
as a full-grown man, and inflicting upon Ban a new species of
scarification. It did not matter. Nothing mattered. He rode on, knees
tight, lines loose, elate, shouting, singing, acclaiming the storm which
was setting its irrefragable limits to the world wherein he and Io would
still live close, a few golden days longer.

What he picked from the wire when he reached it confirmed his hopes. The
track was threatened in a dozen places. Repair crews were gathering.
Already the trains were staggering along, far behind their schedule.
They would, of course, operate as far as possible, but no reliance was
to be placed upon their movements until further notice. Through the
night traffic continued, but with the coming of the morning and the
settling down of a soft, seeping, unintermittent pour of gray rain, the
situation had clarified. Nothing came through. Complete stoppage, east
and west. Between Manzanita and Stanwood the track was out, and in the
other direction Dry Bed Arroyo was threatening. Banneker reported
progress to the lodge and got back, soaked and happy. Io was thoughtful
and content.

Late that afternoon the station-agent had a shock which jarred him quite
out of his complacent security. Denny, the operator at Stanwood, wired,
saying:

Party here anxious to get through to Manzanita quick. Could auto make
upper desert?

No (clicked Banneker in response). Describe party.

The answer came back confirming his suspicion:

Thin, nice-spoken, wears goggles, smokes cork-tips. Arrived Five from
Angelica held here.

Tell impossible by any route (instructed Banneker). Wire result.

An hour later came the reply:

Won't try to-night. Probably horse to-morrow.

Here was a problem, indeed, fit to chill the untimely
self-congratulations of Banneker. Should the reporter come in--and come
he would if it were humanly possible, by Banneker's estimate of him--it
would be by the only route which gave exit to the west. On the other
side the flooded arroyo cut off escape. To try to take Io out through
the forest, practically trackless, in that weather, or across the
channeled desert, would be too grave a risk. To all intents and purposes
they were marooned on an island with no reasonable chance of
exit--except! To Banneker's feverishly searching mind reverted a local
legend. Taking a chance on missing some emergency call, he hurried over
to the village and