It was late afternoon when threatening clouds rolled out of the Three Soldiers in the west. The air grew still and moist. Nature seemed to hush as the angry clouds climbed higher. The sun was blotted out. It was one of those quick, terrible storms of midsummer and Slim looked for shelter. There was none. He could only ride, hoping that the rain would not come down too hard.
The first big drops pelted him. Then the skies opened, a gray wall of water rushing down from the heavens. In spite of the poncho, Slim was soon soaked and the water rushed off Lightning’s flanks in torrents. Heads down, horse and rider plodded on.
It was impossible to see more than a few hundred feet, but Slim knew he was in a valley. That was bad. The rain was of almost cloudburst proportions and a wall of water might come sweeping along at any moment.
Slim urged Lightning to a faster pace, and the faithful sorrel responded. The cowboy looked for higher ground, but instead they seemed to be going down a gentle slope. Then they looked down on what had been a dry wash. It was running several feet deep with water and rising all the time. On the other side lay higher ground and as Slim debated what to do, the dull rumble of oncoming water could be heard above the noise of the storm.
If he turned back, it might be hours before he could cross the stream. He leaned over and spoke to Lightning. “Let’s go,” he urged her and the sorrel started down the bank. Slim almost held his breath as the water swirled about them. Lightning walked carefully, for a slip would send them both into the torrent.
The sound of the oncoming water filled the heavens with its terrible roar and Slim looked upstream. Around a bend poured a wall of water, black, raging, death-dealing.
Lightning’s hoofs touched the other bank and with a great leap the sorrel left the water. But danger still lurked for horse and rider. The wall of water was spreading out. They were far from safety.
As though sensing that death was riding hard behind them, Lightning shot ahead, mud flying from her hoofs. In great leaps the sorrel kept ahead of the madly rushing waters, angling always toward the higher ground.
Slim looked behind. The water was gaining. He urged Lightning to another burst of speed and the great horse responded. It didn’t seem possible that they would escape, but with a last noble effort, Lightning flashed over the muddy ground and they reached safety just as the flood waters swept by.
Slim pulled up his horse and watched the torrent roar down the valley. Gratefully he leaned over and stoked Lightning’s head.