he had been fired at on the
face of the Point.

He took quick stock of his condition and, rising to his feet, found
himself only sore and bruised. He pressed his way through the flood to
the track, gained the platform, and, judging rightly that his
assailants had abandoned their fight, entered the half-burned building
unafraid. Rain poured in one corner where the roof had burned away
before the storm had put out the fire.

Stumbling through the debris that covered the floor, Bucks made his
way to the operator's table and put his hand up to cut in the
lightning arrester. He was too late. The fire had taken everything
ahead of him, and his hope of getting into communication with the
despatchers was next dashed by the discovery that his instruments were
wrecked.

He sat down--his chair was intact--much disheartened. But without
delay he opened the drawer of the table and feeling for his box of
cartridges found that the thieves had overlooked it. This he slipped
into his pocket with a feeling of relief, and, as he sat, rain-soaked
and with the water dripping from his hair, he reloaded his revolver
and made such preparations as he could to barricade the inner door and
wait for the passing of the storm.

From time to time, awed by the fury of the elements, he looked into
the night. It seemed as if the valley as far as he could see was a
vast lake that rippled and danced over the rocks. Bucks had never
conceived of a thunderstorm like this. Until it abated there was
nothing he could do, and he sat in wretched discomfort, hour after
hour, waiting for the night to pass and listening to the mighty roar
of the waters as they swept broadside down the divide carrying
everything ahead of them. Before daylight the violence of the storm
wore itself away, but the creek in the little canyon south of the
right-of-way, dashing its swollen bulk against the granite walls,
pounded and roared with the fury of a cataract.

When day broke, ragged masses of gray cloud scudded low across the
sky. The rain had ceased, and in the operator's room Bucks, aided by
the first rays of daylight, was struggling to get the telegraph wires
disentangled to send a message. His hopes, as the light increased and
he saw the ruin caused by the fire, were very slender, but he kept
busily at the wreckage and getting, at length, two severed strands of
the wires to show a current, began sending his call, followed by a
message for help to Medicine Bend. He worked