When he arrived near enough to take in a full view of the scene, however, he found it very different from what he expected. True, there was a large camp-fire burning, such as the one he had left, and around it were gathered a number of women and children, cold, hungry and wet. A rough, lean-to tent, made of a sheet of tarpaulin, had been stretched in order to try to keep off the worst of the downpour, but no shelter availed.
A few steps farther, on the river bank, was a scene of excitement and commotion. A large gasoline torch flared into the night, defying the efforts of the storm to extinguish it, and by the light of this torch, scores of men were working busily, almost crazily, repairing a cave-in that threatened every moment to make a new break in the levee.
"Who's that? Another man?" rang out a clear, strong voice, as Ross came near. "Good! We need men badly, right now."
"It's me, Mr. Levin," answered the boy promptly, as he recognized the voice, and hurried into the circle of light, "it's me, Ross Planford."
"Howdy, Ross," came the greeting in reply, "all your folks safe?"
"Yes, sir," the boy answered. "It was a narrow shave, though. Rex got us out just in time."
"Good dog, that," was the terse comment. "I always did like Airedales. Well, Ross, it's time you got busy. Bring me a pile of empty bags from Dave's sugar-mill, there."
"Yes, sir," answered the lad, and darted off towards the factory.
Rex followed at his heels, and when, staggering back with his load, Ross dropped one of the empty bags, the terrier picked it up and came trotting after, carrying it in his teeth.
"I dropped one, Mr. Levin," said the boy, "I'll go right back for it."