CHAPTER XIII
THE INSPECTOR
Down the rocky slope, toward the little settlement on the flats below the dam, rode Jack. He thought rapidly. If he could beat the flood, there would be time to warn the sleeping population so they could flee to the hills. There were not many who had their homes in the danger zone, not more than twenty-five families.
"I'll wake some of 'em up," Jack reflected, "and then they can warn the others. I don't imagine they'll have time to save anything. Too bad! But that dam is certainly going."
The rain came pelting down once more, the drops stinging in Jack's face. He tried to listen, to ascertain if he could hear the roar of the waters that would indicate that the dam had already gone out, but all he could catch was the splash of the rain.
Jack's course was along the now turbulent stream that was formed from the overflow of the pent-up waters. In normal times this was but a mere brook, most of the waters being led off through a pipe line to supply a distant irrigation scheme. But now there was so much water that not only was the pipe line filled, but the overflow from the dam had turned the brook into a river.
"The people ought to have seen the danger, and gotten out before this," reflected Jack, "but perhaps they haven't. Well, I'll do my best to save 'em!"
On galloped the faithful pony. Jack wished he could put the mail and express stuff somewhere until he could conclude his ride for life, but it would not be safe to leave it anywhere. Fortunately, he had not much of a load that night.
To Jack it seemed that he never would reach the little town, nor see the lights of the first cabin loom into sight.
"That is there'll be lights if the folks are up," mused Jack, "and I hope some of them are. There'll be some tall scrambling if I have to get 'em all up out of bed."