Dugan did not seem to be in any hurry. He wanted to make sure. He evidently doubted whether the motionless object on the sluice gates was his man. He was lying perfectly still now watching it. He did not want to risk a shot at a scarecrow and sound a warning. Convinced at last that he was mistaken he rose to his feet and took a step toward the sluice gates.
There was a spit of flame, the roar of a forty-five, accompanied by a mocking laugh from the motionless object on the sluice gates, and Dugan staggered. He was hard hit but he was not the man to go alone. He steadied himself. There were two more reports almost simultaneously and the flashes from the two revolvers almost met.
Jed pitched backwards into the deep boiling waters of the reservoir and Dugan sank silently beside the sluice gates. Fate worked it out without Scott’s aid.
CHAPTER XIX
THE BURSTING OF THE DAM
There was no time to waste in mourning over the fate of the two outlaws. Scott’s first duty was to the unsuspecting ranchers in the path of the coming flood. The waves were already washing over the top of the dam and the old sluice gates were groaning under the strain. The storm still raged in unabated fury. Everywhere there was running water. It was coming down the face of the rocky slopes in sheets and all the cañons were filled with boiling torrents. The roar of it sounded like a mighty accompaniment to the booming of the thunder.
Before the echoes of the pistol shots had been swallowed up in the other noises of the storm Scott sprang for the windlass, but he was too late. Jed Clark was dead but he had accomplished his crazy purpose. With a crash and rending of heavy timbers the sluice gates went out on the crest of the flood and carried a small portion of the dam with them. The whole structure trembled from end to end. Scott felt the mason work crumbling under his feet and the swirling waters grasping at his ankles. He scrambled desperately out of its clutches and rushed to the place where he had left Jed. He was gone, but a frightened snort from higher up the steep side of the cañon led him to where the terrified horse had climbed to the base of the perpendicular wall of rock and stood trembling, too frightened to move.
The one chance now was to beat out the flood. To reach the ranchers in the valley below before the wall of water which would come when the dam went out, and that could be only the matter of minutes now. It was a desperate chance, for the trail was steep and rough, and the rush of the waters would make it almost impassable in places.
Scott flung himself onto Jed’s trembling back and turned him down the cañon trail. Another crash in the direction of the dam sent him plunging ahead, and once started a mad fright took possession of him. He ran like a fiend. Scott had learned much about riding since he had cleared the corral fence clinging to Jed’s neck, but it required all his skill to stay in the saddle now. He had to close his eyes to protect them from the twigs which slashed his face, and once a jagged point of rock grazed his knee and almost threw him from the horse’s back.
“It’s up to you, Jed, old boy,” Scott whispered in the horse’s ear, “I can’t help you any now.”