eel told the story; but
that was not the most alarming damage he had to fear, for the heavy
steel pipe, where it entered the plant, was twisted loose, gaping and
dry.

He scrambled up the hill, seizing the manzanita brush here and there
to drag himself up faster, and gained the brow where the pipe made its
last abrupt descent. Far ahead, and walking sturdily, he recognized
the stalwart figure of his partner, and knew that Bill was suffering
the same anxiety. He ran when the ascent was less steep, and shouted
to the grizzled miner ahead, who turned and waited for him.

"I'm afraid of it," Bill called as he approached; and Dick,
breathless, made no reply, but hurried ahead with him to the
reservoir. In all the journey, which seemed unduly long and hot that
morning, they said nothing. Once, as they passed the familiar scene of
his tryst with Miss Presby, now ages past, Dick bit his lips, and
suppressed a moan like that of a hurt animal. Bitterly he thought that
now she was more unattainable, and his dreams more idle than ever
they had been. And the first sight of the reservoir confirmed it.

To a large extent, the reservoir of the Cross was artificial. It had
been constructed by throwing a deep stone and concrete dam across a
narrow canyon through which there percolated, in summer, a small
stream. Its cubic capacity was such, however, that when this reservoir
was filled by spring freshets it contained water enough to run the
full season round if sparingly used; and it was on this alone that the
mill depended for its power, and the mine for its lights and train
service, from hoist to breakers.

Where had stood the dam, gray with age and moss-covered, holding in
check its tiny lake, was now nothing but ruins. The shots had been
placed in the lower point, which was fifty feet down and conical as it
struck and rested on the mother rock. Whoever had placed the charges
knew well the explosive directions of his powder, and his work had
been disastrously effective.

The whole lower part of the dam was out, and through it, in the night,
had rushed the deluge of water so vital to the Croix d'Or. Small trees
that had grown up since the dam had been built were uprooted in the
bed of the canyon, and great bowlders pulled from their sockets and
sent resistlessly downward. Where, the day before, had been grassy
beds and heavy growths of ferns, was now but a naked bed, stripped to
the rock, down which flowed a small stream oozing fr