THE town woke to a matter-of-fact day. The sensational aspect of the runaway river had passed with the night. The word spread that the flood waters were under control; that the men had gone home to sleep, so the women got breakfast as usual, and tidied their homes. The Colorado was always breaking out, like a naughty child from school. Never would the cry of “The river!” fail to drag the blood from their cheeks. But relief always came; the threatened danger was always averted, and these pioneer women had acquired the habit of swift reaction.
That afternoon, Mrs. Youngberg was to entertain at the A B C ranch the ladies of the Improvement Club. It was a self-glorification meeting, to celebrate the planting of trees in the streets of Calexico, and to plan the campaign of their planting. Mrs. Blinn drove into town to get Gerty Hardin. Neither woman had seen her husband since the interrupted drive the night before.
“I don’t know whether I should go,” Mrs. Hardin hesitated, her face turned toward the A B C ranch. “Perhaps there is something we could do.”
“I have just come from the levee.” Mrs. Blinn’s jolly face had lost its apprehension. “The water has not risen an inch since breakfast. Most of the men have been sent home. When Howard didn’t come home to lunch, I grew anxious. But Mr. Rickard says he sent him to Fassett’s with more dynamite.”
“Dynamite!” shuddered Gerty. “Aren’t you terribly afraid?” So Rickard was in town! Her breath fluttered. Strange, how her spirits rose!
Mrs. Blinn wondered if the wife was the only person in the town who had not heard of Hardin’s melodramatic ride that morning. She decided that the story had been purposely withheld. She would not be the one to inform her.
“Would you mind—” Gerty laid a well-kept hand on her friend’s knee. “Would you mind turning back? I’d be more comfortable if I could see Tom or Mr. Rickard; hear what they think about it.”
“But Mr. Rickard told me,” began Mrs. Blinn.
“I’m worried about Tom,” cried Gerty, flushing. Danger to Tom was a new thought. With Rickard in town the levee beckoned irresistibly. Were it Mrs. Youngberg, with her sharp eyes, or Innes, she would not dare, but Mrs. Blinn was dull; she would never suspect anything!
Mrs. Blinn’s devotion to her husband, who was the butt of her fond ridicule, and the center of her universe, made her believe all women like herself. Gerty’s high color, she thought, meant anxiety.