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.
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