“You’re out of luck, then,” Peter informed him. “No chance till breakfast, now.”
Rawley swung round upon them from the front seat, where he was to pilot the driver. His voice was strained and unnatural.
“The—folks would know enough to get out of danger, wouldn’t they, Uncle Peter?”
“They would,” Peter said grimly, “if they had any warning.”
“You don’t think it was an accident, surely!” As Rawley spoke, others leaned to listen for Peter’s reply.
“I know I found a doctor,—he’s going to follow at our tail light. I hid the battery where Jess and the old man couldn’t find it. The rest we’ll know when we get there.” Peter’s exultation had left him completely. He sat back in a corner of the wide seat and said no more. And by that, Rawley knew that Peter was worried.
The reporter was saying that Needles had reported every window in town broken by the concussion.
“Of course they counted, in the five minutes they must have had before you wired,” Rawley exclaimed irritably. If Peter was worried over the folks in the basin, then Rawley knew that there was cause. He told the driver to “hit ’er up, the road’s good”, and thereby gained some minutes and gave some great men a jolting.
They left the road to Black Canyon and went on to Nelson. They could drive to the river that way, and one glance would tell them whether the dam was holding. That was important. The Governor of the State having called for help, it was necessary to see first of all what the river was doing below the dam,—if dam there were.
Several cars fell in behind them, no doubt cognizant of the fact that the Governor, Peter and the great engineer were in the first automobile, and that they knew where they were going. So it was a swift procession that swung up over the summit and down into El Dorado Canyon.