“We don’t mind,” spoke Mr. Newton. “We’ll not be in very much, I guess. The most we’ll want will be meals.”
“I can promise you them at any rate,” said the clerk.
They registered, and were shown to their room. The rain was coming down harder than ever, but in spite of that Larry and his friend lay down and managed to get a few hours’ sleep. After breakfast, which they ate in a crowded dining room, where the only conversation was about the rain and the danger from the dam, they donned their rain coats and rubber boots and, with umbrellas, went out.
“Will you tell us where the dam is?” asked Mr. Newton of the first man he met.
“Right straight up that street,” was the answer. “Don’t you hear a sort of roar?”
“Yes, what is it?” asked the reporter.
“The water coming through the emergency outlets,” was the answer. “The flood has not yet risen above the dam, but it will soon.”
Larry and his friend went in the direction pointed out. They were not the only ones on the street, for in spite of the downpour scores of persons were on their way to the dam, to see what had happened overnight.
As they came nearer the roar became louder, until as they turned down a side street leading to the river, they could hear the flood of waters tearing its way along like a miniature Niagara. Then, a few minutes later, they came in sight of the big reservoir, fed by a comparatively small stream in ordinary times, but which had now become a raging torrent from the overabundance of rain.
In front of them, in a sort of hollow of the hills, was a vast body of water. It was about half a mile wide, and backed up for several miles. The dam was about two thousand feet in length, strongly constructed. In ordinary seasons the water hardly came to within half-way of the top, but now only two feet separated the spill-way from the surface of the muddy swirling water.