e, tough and supple, but it bent in the force of
the wind like a willow twig. Again and again it bowed, rose with a
fling, only to be borne down again. At last it broke with a crash; the
upper half, whirling down, struck the roof, opening a ragged hole
through which the rain streamed in torrents.

Rivers cried, in battle alarm, "The roof is going!"

"No, it ain't!" trumpeted Bailey, sturdily; "swing a tub up here to
catch the water!"

The woman forgot her fears and aided the two men as they toiled to cover
the more perishable goods with bolts of cotton cloth, while the
appalling wind tore at the eaves and lashed the roof with broadsides of
rain and hail, which fell in constantly increasing force, raising the
roar of the storm in key, till it crackled viciously. The tempest had
the voice of a ravenous beast, cheated and angry. Outside the water lay
in sheets. The whole land was a river, and the shanty was like a boat
beached on a bar in the swash of it.

Nothing more could be done, and so they waited, Bailey watching at the
window, Blanche and Rivers standing in the centre of the room. Bailey
came back once to say: "This beats anything I ever saw. There will be
ruin to many a shanty out of this," he added, as the roar began to
diminish. "Nothing saved us but our ballast of pork and oil."

"As soon as it stops, Bob, I wish you'd hitch up for me. I want to take
Mrs. Burke home."

"All right, Jim; it's letting up now. I wonder if the storm was as bad
over where the Clayton girls are?" His voice betrayed anxiety greater
than he knew. Rivers looked at him indulgently and smiled at Blanche.
"You'd better go and see," he said.

As soon as it became possible to carry a light, Bailey went to the barn
and brought the team to the door. Rivers helped Blanche to a seat in
the wagon and drove off across the plain, leaving Bailey alone in the
water-soaked store-room. After a half-hour's work he, too, set out on a
tour of exploration. The moon was shining on the plain as serenely as if
only a dew had fallen. Water stood in shallow basins here and there, but
the land was unmarked of the passion of lightning and of wind. Bailey
walked across the level waste, straining his eyes ahead to see if the
homes of his neighbors were still standing. He saw lights gleaming here
and there like warning lamps of distant schooners, and when the
infrequent, silent lightning flamed over the level waste, he caught
glimpses of familiar shanties stan