A Race with the Waters
Roy Milford pulled the brim of his faded sombrero further over his blueeyes and urged Scamp into a trot, though it was broiling hot. Roy had leftthe town two miles behind, and three more miles stretched between him andhome. From the cantle of his saddle hung the two paper parcels which, withthe mail in his pocket, explained his errand.Not a breath of air stirred the dusty leaves of the cottonwoods along theroad. Roy was barely fourteen years old; but his six years in Colorado hadtaught him what such weather foretold, and there were plenty of other signsof the approaching storm. In the uncultivated fields the little moundsbefore the prairie dog holes were untenanted; the silver poplars, weatherwise, were displaying the under sides of their gleaming leaves; the birdswere silent; and the still, oppressive air was charged with electricity.But, most unmistakable sign of all, over the flat purple peaks of the MesaGrande, hung a long bank of sullen, blackish clouds. There was the storm,already marshaling its forces. Roy was certain that, after the month ofrainless weather just passed, the coming deluge would be something towonder at.Where the road crossed the railroad track Roy touched his buckskin ponywith the quirt and loped westward until he reached a rail gate leading intoan uncultivated field. Here he leaped nimbly out of the saddle, threw openthe gate, sent Scamp through with a pat on the shoulder, closed the barsagain, remounted, and trotted over the sun-cracked adobe. Two hundred yardsaway a fringe of greasewood bushes marked what, at this distance, appearedto be a water course. Such, in a way, it was. But Roy had never seen morewater in it than he could have jumped across. It was a narrow arroyo orgully, varying in width from twelve to twenty feet, and averaging fifteenfeet in depth. It ran almost due north and south for a distance of fivemiles, through a bare, level prairie tenanted only by roving cattle andhorses--if one excepts rabbits, prairie dogs, rattlesnakes, owls, lizards,and scorpions. There was no vegetation except grease-wood, cactus, andsagebrush. In heavy rains or during sudden meltings of the snow back on themountains, each of several small gullies bore its share of water to thejunction at the beginning; of the arroyo, from whence it sped, tumbling andchurning through the miniature gorge, southward to the river.To Roy, who loved adventure, the arroyo was ever a source of pleasure, withits twilit depths and firm sandy bed. He knew every inch of it. Many werethe imaginary adventures he had gone through in its winding depths, now asa painted Arapahoe on the warpath, now as a county sheriff on the trail ofmurderous desperadoes, again as a mighty hunter searching the sandy floorfor the tracks of bears and mountain lions. He had found strange things inthe arroyo--rose-quartz arrow heads, notched like saws; an old, rustedColt's revolver, bearing the date 1858, and a picture of the holding up ofa stagecoach engraved around the chamber; queer, tiny shells of some longgone fresh-water snail; bits of yellow pottery, their edges worn smooth andround by the water; to say nothing of birds' nests, villages of uglywater-white scorpions; and lizards, from the tiny ones that change theircolor, chameleonlike, to "racers" well over a foot long.From end to end of the arroyo there were but two places where it waspossible to enter or leave. Both of these had been made by cattle crossingfrom side to side. One was just back of Roy's home and the other was nearlytwo miles south. It was toward the latter that Roy was heading his horse.He thought with pleasure of the comparative comfort awaiting him in theshaded depths. Brushing the perspiration out of his eyes, he glancednorthward. Even as he looked the summits of the peaks were blurred fromsight by a dark gray veil of rain. Above, all was blackness save when foran instant a wide, white sheet of lightning blazed above the mesa, and wasfollowed a moment later by the first tremendous roar of thunder. Scamppricked up his drooping ears and mended his pace."We are going to get good and wet before we get home," muttered Roy. "Comeon, Scamp!"They reached the edge of the arroyo and the little pony, lurching from sideto side, clambered carefully down the narrow path to the bottom. Oncethere, Roy used his quirt again, and the horse broke into a gallop thatcarried them fast over the sandy bed. On both sides the walls of adobe andyellow clay rose as straight as though of masonry. Along the brink grewstunted bushes of greasewood and of sage. Here and there the tap root of agreasewood was half exposed for its entire length, just as it had been leftby the falling earth. Many of these yellow-brown roots, tough as hempenrope, descended quite to the bottom of the arroyo, for the greasewoodperseveres astonishingly in its search for moisture.As Scamp hurried along the brown and gray lizards darted across his path,and the mother scorpions, taking the air at the entrances of their holes,scuttled out of sight. Roy took off his hat and let the little draught ofair that blew through the chasm dry the perspiration on face and hair.Presently the sunlight above gave way to a sullen, silent shadow. The airgrew strangely quiet; even the lizards no longer moved. Roy gazed straightupward into the slowly rolling depths of a dark cloud, and heartily wishedhimself at home. He had seen many a storm; but the one that was approachingnow made him almost afraid. The little twigs of greasewood shivered andbent, and a cool breath fanned his cheek. There came a great drop,splashing against his bare brown hand; then another; then many, eachleaving a spot of moisture on the dry sand as big as a silver dollar. Royput his sombrero on and drew the string tightly back of his head. Hebuttoned his blue-flannel shirt at the throat, patted Scamp encouraginglyon his reeking neck, and rode on.For the last ten minutes the thunder had been roaring at intervals, drawingnearer and nearer, and now it crashed directly overhead with a mighty soundthat shook the earth and sent Scamp bounding out of his path in terror.Then down came the rain. It was as though a million buckets had beenemptied upon him; it fell in livid, hissing sheets and walls, takingstrange shapes, like pillars and columns that came from a dim nowhere andrushed past him into the gray void behind. He was drenched ere he couldhave turned in his saddle; his eyes were filled with rain, it ran drippingfrom his soaking hat brim and coursed down his arms and chest and back. Fora moment even Scamp, experienced cow pony that he was, plunged and snortedloudly, until Roy's voice shouted encouragement. Then he raced forwardagain. But almost at once his gait shortened; the bed of the arroyo wasrunning with water and the softened sand made heavy going. Roy couldscarcely distinguish the walls on either side; but he knew that when thestorm had broken the path leading up out of the arroyo was about a halfmile ahead of him.As suddenly as it had begun the deluge lessened. The walls, running withmud, were crumbling and falling here and there in miniature landslides.Scamp was plunging badly in the soft ground, and so Roy slowed him down toa trot. He could not, he told himself grimly, get one speck wetter. Therewas little use in hurrying. With sudden recollection of his bundles, Royglanced back. Only a wisp of wet brown paper sticking to the cantleremained; the water had soaked the wrappings--baking powder, flavoringextract, dried fruit, and all the rest of it, had utterly disappeared.But Roy's regrets were cut short by Scamp. That animal suddenly stoppedshort, pricked his ears forward, and showed every symptom of terror. Roy,wondering, urged him onward. But two steps beyond the horse again stoppedand strove to turn. Roy quieted him and, peering forward up the gully,through the driving mist of rain, tried to account for the animal's fright.Was it a bear? he wondered. He knew that there were some in the foothills,and it was quite possible that one had taken shelter here in the arroyo.Then, as he looked, a roaring sound, which the boy had mistaken for thebeat of the rain, rose and grew in volume until it drowned the hissing ofthe storm and filled the arroyo. Around a bend of the gully only a fewyards ahead came a wave of turbid, yellow water, bearing above it a greatrolling bank of white froth.For an instant Roy gazed. Then, heart in mouth, he swung Scamp on hishaunches and tore madly back the way he had come. He knew on the instantwhat had happened. There had been a cloud-burst on the mesa or among thefoothills, and all the little gullies had emptied their water into themouth of the arroyo. He knew also that if the flood caught him therebetween those prisonlike walls he would be drowned like a rat. The nearestplace of refuge was a mile and a half away!After the first moment of wild terror he grew calm. On his courage andcoolness rested his chance for life. He crouched far over the saddle hornand lashed Scamp with the dripping quirt. Urging was unnecessary, for itseemed the horse knew that Death was rushing along behind them. He raced asRoy had never seen him run before. The walls rushed by, dim and misty. In aminute Boy gathered courage to glance back over his shoulder. His heartsank--only a yard or two behind them rushed the foam-topped wave. Here andthere the sides of the arroyo melted in the flood and toppled downward,yards at a time, sending the yellow water high in air, but making no soundabove its roaring. Behind the first wave, perhaps a half hundred feet tothe rear, came a second, showing no froth on its crest, but higher andmightier. And farther back the arroyo seemed filled almost to the tops ofthe banks with the rushing waters. Roy used the quirt ruthlessly, searchingthe banks as they sped by in the forlorn hope of finding some place thatwould offer a means of egress, yet knowing well as he did so that thenearest way out was still a full mile distant.He wondered what death by drowning was like. Somewhere he had read that itwas painless and quick; but that was in a story. Then he wondered what hismother would do without him to fetch the water from the cistern back of thekitchen, and feed the chickens and look after the hives. He wondered, too,if they would ever find his body--and Scamp's! The thought that poor,gallant old Scamp must die too struck him as the hardest thing of all. Heloved Scamp as he loved none else save father and mother; they had hadtheir little disagreements, when Scamp refused to come to the halter in thecorral and had to be roped, but they always made up, with petting and sugarbeets from Roy and remorseful whinnies and lipping of the boy's cheek fromScamp. And now Scamp must be drowned!It was difficult going now, for the turbid stream reached above the horse'sknees; but the animal was mad with fright, and he plunged desperatelyonward. Roy looked up toward the gray skies, through a world of gleamingrain, and said both the prayers he knew. After that he felt better,somehow, and when the second wave caught them, almost bearing Scamp fromhis sturdy feet, he looked calmly about him, searching the uncertainshadows which he knew were the walls of the chasm. He had made up his mindto give Scamp a chance for life. He tossed aside his quirt, patted the wetneck of the plunging animal and whispered a choking "Good-by." Then, as theflood swept the horse from his feet and swung him sideways against onewall, Roy kicked his feet from the stirrups and sprang blindly toward thebank, clutching in space.He struck against the soggy earth and, still clutching with his hands, sankdownward inch by inch, his crooked fingers bringing the moist clay withthem and his feet finding no lodgment. The water swept him outward then,tearing at his writhing legs. Just as his last clutch failed him his otherhand encountered something that was not bare, crumbling earth, and held itdesperately. The flood buffeted him and tossed the lower half of his bodyto and fro like a straw. The muddy water splashed into his face, blinding,choking him. But the object within his grasp remained firm. For a moment heswung there, gasping, with closed eyes. Then he blinked the water from hislids and looked. His left hand was clutching the thick tap root of agreasewood. In an instant he seized it with his other hand as well, andlooked about him. Scamp was no longer in sight. The water was risingrapidly. The noise was terrific. All about him the walls, undermined by theflood, were slipping down in wet, crumbling masses. He wondered if the rootwould hold him, and prayed that it might. Then the water came up to hisbreast, and he knew that if he were to save himself he must manage somehowto crawl upward. Perhaps--perhaps he might even climb quite out of thechasm! If only the earth and the root would hold!Taking a deep breath he clutched the tap root a foot higher and tried hisweight upon it. It held like a rope. He pulled himself a foot higher fromthe waters. Once more, and then he found that he had command of his legsand could dig his feet into the unstable clay. Then, inch by inch, scarcedaring to hope, he pulled himself up, up until he was free of the flood andbetween him and the ground above only a scant yard remained. Below him therushing torrents roared, as though angry at his escape, and tossed horridyellow spray upon him.Once more he took fresh grip of the slippery root, watching anxiously thelow bush at the edge of the bank. Each moment he thought to see it givetoward him and send him tossing back into the water. But still it held. Atlast, hours and hours it seemed since he had first begun his journey, hishand clutched the edge of the bank, but the earth came away in wet handfulsat every clutch. At length his fingers encountered a sprawling root orbranch, he knew not which, just beyond his sight; and, digging his toesinto the wall in a final despairing effort, he scrambled over the brink androlled fainting to the rain-soaked ground.How long he lay there he never knew. But presently a tremor of the earthroused him. Stumbling to his feet, he rushed away from the arroyo just asthe bank, for yards behind him, disappeared. After that he struggled onwardthrough the driving rain until he sank exhausted to the ground, burying hishead in his arms.They found him there, hours afterwards, fast asleep, his wet clothessteaming in the hot afternoon sunlight. They put him into the wagon of thenearest rancher and jolted him home, his head in his father's lap and thegreat horse blankets thrown over him, making him dream that he was a loafof bread in his mother's oven."When Scamp came in, wet and almost dead, we feared you were gone." Theywere sitting about the supper table. Roy had told his story to a wonderingaudience, and now, with his plate well filled with mother's best watermelonpreserve and citron cake, he was supremely contented, if somewhat tired andsobered. His father continued, his rugged face working as he recalled theanxiety of the day: "I can't see how that broncho ever got out of therealive; can you, boys? And to think," he added wonderingly, "that it was theroot of a pesky greasewood bush that saved your life! Boy, I don't reckonI'll ever have the heart again to grub one of 'em up!"
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