louder rapidly and common sense won out in a cry of warning an instant
before a five-foot wall of brown water burst upon his sight, sweeping
swiftly down the old, dry river bed; and behind it towered another and
greater wall. Tree trunks were dancing end over end in it as if they
were straws.

"Cloud-burst!" he yelled. "Run, Tex! Run for yore life! Cloud-burst up
the valley! Run, you fool; _Run_!"

Tex's sarcastic retort was cut short as he instinctively glanced north,
and his agonized curse lashed Hopalong forward. "Can't run--knee cap's
busted! Can't swim, can't do--ah, hell--!"

Hopalong saw him torn from his shelter and whisked down the raging
torrent like an arrow from a bow. The Bar-20 puncher leaped from the
bank, shot under the yellow flood and arose, gasping and choking many
yards downstream, fighting madly to get the muddy water out of his
throat and eyes. As he struck out with all his strength down the
current, he caught sight of Tex being torn from a jutting tree limb, and
he shouted encouragement and swam all the harder, if such a thing
were possible. Tex's course was checked for a moment by a boiling
back-current and as he again felt the pull of the rushing stream
Hopalong's hand gripped his collar and the fight for safety began.
Whirled against logs and stumps, drawn down by the weight of his clothes
and the frantic efforts of Tex to grasp him--fighting the water and
the man he was trying to save at the same time, his head under water
as often as it was out of it, and Tex's vise-like fingers threatening
him--he headed for the west shore against powerful cross-currents that
made his efforts seem useless. He seemed to get the worst of every
break. Once, when caught by a friendly current, they were swung under
an overhanging branch, but as Hopalong's hand shot up to grasp it
a submerged bush caught his feet and pulled him under, and Tex's
steel-like arms around his throat almost suffocated him before he
managed to beat the other into insensibility and break the hold.

"I'll let you go!" he threatened; but his hand grasped the other's
collar all the tighter and his fighting jaw was set with greater
determination than ever.

They shot out into the main stream, where the U-bend channel joined the
short-cut, and it looked miles wide to the exhausted puncher. He was
fighting only on his will now. He would not give up, though he scarce
could lift an arm, and his lungs seemed on fire. He did not know whether