There was something electric in the strange storm that drew her into its midst—some kinship that called her away! She was sure she could reach shelter before the rain reached her. “Then, hurrah for the ring of the bridle-rein—away, brave steed, away!”
Mountain Boy snuffed at the dust-laden air and broke into the long stride that soon carried them into the foothills. At times the wind nearly swept her from the saddle, but she loped on and on. Then she gained the high ground; and the dust that had smarted her eyes and nostrils lay far below. It was misty, and the wind came in strong buffetings. Up, and still up they climbed. The rain-clouds were surely keeping their burden back for her! But, nay! she had almost reached the mill—was almost under shelter, when the storm swept down upon her and the waters fell in a flood. Drenched and disheveled she reached the mill. Disappointment and consternation awaited her—her father was not there! Nearly two hours before—just the time she was leaving the valley—the Judge, with Mr. Akerman, had driven away by the north road to take the morning express from the station above, and were now at the county seat thirty miles away, if they had met with no mishap.
Evaleen was aghast! What to do? Her father believed her to be at the hotel, to which place she must return at once—there was nothing else for her to do. Back through the wind and the wet! She heard the foreman’s voice in warning and entreaty swept away by the gale as she turned; but—shaking her head—she plunged down the road and back into the storm. Away and away! The road ran with many a curve and turn—easy grades, made for wagon use—; so, though steep it was for such riding, she loped down the mountain, while the wind, and the rain, and the roar of the storm shut the world away.
A feeling of numbness came over her, a something that was neither terror nor awe, yet which held something of each. As time went on she seemed to have been riding hours innumerable—it seemed days since she had seen a human face. Down, farther down must she go. She was becoming exhausted, and the sleet was chilling her to the very center of her being. It was terrible—terrible! To reach the valley and shelter! There on the mountain the wind shrieked and howled about her; the air was filled with voices that were deafening, dizzying, frightful. The horse himself was half mad with fright. Twice he had almost thrown her as thunder claps and flashes of lightning had seemed to surround them on all sides. Three miles yet to shelter! Could she stand it? But where—where was there nearer relief? Ah! the Spencer tunnel—— There would be safety there till the worst of the storm was over. A turn of the rein, and Mountain Boy was running straight for the old tunnel under the cliffs.
Hark! What was that? There came to her ears a great roaring that was neither the howling of the wind, nor the rush of the rain, nor the mingled awful sounds of the storm as she tore along the cañon. She could see nothing of the thing she heard, for the wet slap of the rain blinded her. Closer and closer it came! As she slipped from the saddle at the tunnel’s mouth, the horse—terrified at the roaring which rose above the voice of the storm, and which was coming nearer—broke from her, and was off and away, with a ten-foot wall of water racing at his heels. The overtaxed dam had bursted its bounds, and the flood was cutting a waterway down the center of the cañon, but below the level of the old tunnel! She was safe! But——alone, and her horse was gone!
When, more than two hours afterward, Hume Sherwood found her, it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should take her in his arms, and her head should lie on his breast, while she told him how it had happened. Without question he claimed her as his own; without a word she gave him her troth.
“I knew you would come, Hume—I knew you would find me,” she said, softly.
“Dear!”