On one rooftop, Penny counted six persons. The sight drove her to action.
“If only we had a rope—” she cried, and broke off as her eyes roved up the hillside.
Two hundred yards away stood a farmhouse.
“I’ll see if I can get one there!” she cried, darting away.
The hill was steep, the ground soft. Penny’s wet clothing impeded her. She tripped over a stone and fell, but scrambling up, ran on. Finally, quite out of breath, she reached the farmhouse. A woman with two small children clinging to her dress, met the girl in the yard.
“Ain’t it awful?” she murmured brokenly. “My husband’s workin’ down at the Brandale Works. Did the flood strike there?”
“It must have spread through all of Delta,” Penny answered. “This disaster’s going to be frightful unless we can get help quickly. Do you have a telephone?”
“Yes, but it’s dead. The wire runs into Delta.”
Penny had been afraid of that. She doubted that a single telephone pole had been left standing in the town. Nor was it likely that the other valley cities had ’phone service.
“Do you have a rope?” she asked. “A long one?”