rought a tremendous
thunder, as if all the colossal walls were falling in avalanche. Bostil
knew the crest of the flood had turned the corner above and would soon
reach him. He watched. He listened, but sound had ceased. His ears
seemed ringing and they hurt. All his body felt cold, and he backed up
and up, with dead feet.

The shadows of the canyon lightened. A river-wide froth, like a
curtain, moved down, spreading mushroom-wise before it, a rolling,
heaving maelstrom. Bostil ran to escape the great wave that surged into
the amphitheater, up and up the rocky trail. When he turned again he
seemed to look down into hell. Murky depths, streaked by pale gleams,
and black, sinister, changing forms yawned beneath them. He watched
with fixed eyes until once more the feeling of filled ears left him and
an awful thundering boom assured him of actualities. It was only the
Colorado in flood.

CHAPTER XII

Bostil slept that night, but his sleep was troubled, and a strange,
dreadful roar seemed to run through it, like a mournful wind over a
dark desert. He was awakened early by a voice at his window. He
listened. There came a rap on the wood.

"Bostil! ... Bostil!" It was Holley's voice.

Bostil rolled off the bed. He had slept without removing any apparel
except his boots.

"Wal, Hawk, what d'ye mean wakin' a man at this unholy hour?" growled
Bostil.

Holley's face appeared above the rude sill. It was pale and grave, with
the hawk eyes like glass. "It ain't so awful early," he said. "Listen,
boss."

Bostil halted in the act of pulling on a boot. He looked at his man
while he listened. The still air outside seemed filled with low boom,
like thunder at a distance. Bostil tried to look astounded.

"Hell! ... It's the Colorado! She's boomin'!"

"Reckon it's hell all right--for Creech," replied Holley. "Boss, why
didn't you fetch them hosses over?"

Bostil's face darkened. He was a bad man to oppose--to question at
times. "Holley, you're sure powerful anxious about Creech. Are you his
friend?"

"Naw! I've little use fer Creech," replied Holley. "An' you know thet.
But I hold for his hosses as I would any man's."

"A-huh! An' what's your kick?"

"Nothin'--except you could have fetched them over before the flood come
down. That's all."

The old horse-trader and his right-hand rider looked at each other for
a moment in silence. They understood each other. Then Bostil returned
to the task of pulling on wet boots