ndlayson, who had posted himself by
the guard-tower, that his section of the river-bed had been cleaned
out, and when the last voice dropped Findlayson hurried over the
bridge till the iron plating of the permanent way gave place to the
temporary plank-walk over the three centre piers, and there he met
Hitchcock.

"All clear your side?" said Findlayson. The whisper rang in the box of
latticework.

"Yes, and the east channel's filling now. We're utterly out of our
reckoning. When is this thing down on us?"

"There's no saying. She's filling as fast as she can. Look!"
Findlayson pointed to the planks below his feet, where the sand,
burned and defiled by months of work, was beginning to whisper and
fizz.

"What orders?" said Hitchcock.

"Call the roll--count stores--sit on your bunkers--and pray for the
bridge. That's all I can think of. Good night. Don't risk your life
trying to fish out anything that may go down-stream."

"Oh, I'll be as prudent as you are! 'Night. Heavens, how she's
filling! Here's the rain in earnest!" Findlayson picked his way back
to his bank, sweeping the last of McCartney's riveters before him. The
gangs had spread themselves along the embankments, regardless of the
cold rain of the dawn, and there they waited for the flood. Only Peroo
kept his men together behind the swell of the guard-tower, where the
stone-boats lay tied fore and aft with hawsers, wire-ropes, and
chains.

A shrill wail ran along the line, growing to a yell, half fear and
half wonder: the face of the river whitened from bank to bank between
the stone facings, and the far-away spurs went out in spouts of foam.
Mother Gunga had come bank-high in haste, and a wall of
chocolate-coloured water was her messenger. There was a shriek above
the roar of the water, the complaint of the spans coming down on their
blocks as the cribs were whirled out from under their bellies. The
stone-boats groaned and ground each other in the eddy that swung round
the abutment, and their clumsy masts rose higher and higher against
the dim sky-line.

"Before she was shut between these walls we knew what she would do.
Now she is thus cramped God only knows what she will do!" said Peroo,
watching the furious turmoil round the guard-tower. "Ohe! Fight, then!
Fight hard, for it is thus that a woman wears herself out."

But Mother Gunga would not fight as Peroo desired. After the first
down-stream plunge there came no more walls of water, but the riv