"How's the Ponto river, Jack?" asked his father one day, when the lad had stopped to speak to the invalid. "Is she rising much with all this water that's falling?"
"Yes, she's getting pretty high, Dad."
"Look out for the bridge there. It isn't any too strong, and it may go out with the high water."
"Oh, I'm not worrying about that. They've strengthened it within these last two weeks, and I guess it will hold. Still the water is high in the mountains. There's some talk of the Richfield dam not holding."
"Is that so? Well, if that goes out the folks down below will get a wetting."
"That's what they will! But it may hold until it stops raining."
The Richfield dam was a new one, built above the small settlement of that name on the flats about three miles to the northeast of the Ponto river. The Richfield river was a branch of the latter, and was a turbulent stream, often rising rapidly, for It was confined between steep, high! banks.
Jack had his talk with his father vividly recalled to his mind two nights later. It was the first time since the hold-up that he had been obliged to ride at night, but there was some valuable mail that had been delayed, and that must be put through.
The pony express lad was on his trip toward Rainbow Ridge from Golden Crossing, and it was dark when he reached the point where the Richfield river branched off from the Ponto. And at the sight which met his eyes the lad exclaimed:
"Say, this is certainly high water! I wonder if the dam is holding."