“Well, we might try shouting,” said Shirley. “Some one might hear us.”
They both raised their voices to their loudest and shouted long and often. But no reply came.
Shirley glanced carefully about her in the dim light. They stood on the very top of the little hill, and all about them was water. Perhaps a quarter of a mile to the right, however, was another elevation, and this Shirley knew was not merely a similar hill, but high ground that ran back for miles—the land upon which all those in the flooded valley had sought safety.
“I have a plan,” she said quietly to Henderson.
“What is it?” he asked eagerly.
“It’s very simple,” was the reply. “I shall mount the horse, and we shall try and swim through the short expanse of water to the dry ground over there,” and she pointed across the flood.
Henderson started back aghast at the boldness of this plan. Beneath them the water still swished angrily, although it had lost much of its force.
“I’ll not hear of it,” he said shortly. “You shall not risk your life.”
“But,” protested the girl, “we are all likely to become numbed and perish here.”
She shivered slightly as she spoke, for the night air was damp, cold and penetrating.