He was jammed
violently against the posts of the corral. There he worked to his feet.
The whole side of the hill was one vast spread of shallow tossing
water, as though a lake had been let fall on the summit of the ridge.
The smaller bushes were uprooted and swept along, but the trees and
saplings held their own.
In a moment the stones and ridgelets began to show. It was over. Not a
drop of rain had fallen.
Bennington climbed the corral fence and walked slowly to the house. The
blacksmith shop was filled to the window, and Arthur's cabin was not
much better. He entered the kitchen. The floor there was some two
inches submerged, but the water was slowly escaping through the
down-hill door by which Bennington had come in. Across the dining-room
door Mrs. Arthur had laid a folded rug. In front of the barrier stood
the lady herself, vigorously sweeping back the threatening water from
her only glorious apartment.
Bennington took the broom from her and swept until the cessation of the
flood made it no longer necessary. Mrs. Arthur commenced to mop the
floor. The young man stepped outside. There he was joined a moment
later by the other two.
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