“Once a poor boy, always a poor boy, I guess.” Hall shrugged.
“Oh, I haven’t given up yet,” said Donovan grimly. “The aerial survey shows another possible anomaly about three miles west of here. I’ll do some work on that before we call it quits.”
“Take your time,” said his employer.
“Hey!” Ralph, who had been standing at the trailer window, staring glumly into the sheets of rain that swept toward them across the San Juan gorge, spoke up sharply. “Take a look at that river, will you?”
They joined him at the window and found that the stream had doubled in size since the rain had started. Now it was a raging yellow torrent that filled the gorge from border to border.
“It beats me,” said Hall, “how it can rain cats and dogs in this country one day and flood everything, but be dry as dust the next. When the government finishes building its series of dams around here and all this water is impounded for irrigation, you’ll see the desert blossom like the rose, I’ll bet.”
“The rain all runs off and does no good now, that’s a sure thing,” Donovan agreed.
“Look,” Ralph interrupted. “There’s a boat or barge or something coming down the river.”
“You’re crazy,” said Donovan. “Nothing could live in that—Say!” He rubbed mist off the window and peered out into the downpour. “Something is coming down. You’re right!”
They stood shoulder to shoulder and stared in horror. Around a bend in the stream a heavily laden homemade barge had plunged into view. A vivid flash of lightning showed one man standing upright in the stern. Blond hair flying, he was struggling to steer the bucking craft with a long sweep.