That was a night scarcely to be forgotten in the annals of Canyon Pass. The people streamed up the muddy roads on to the highlands all night long while the waters rose higher and higher. They could hear toward morning the crashing of undermined buildings, but not until dawn did the fugitives learn all the damage of the flood.
Then, just before sunrise, there sounded several tremendous explosions from below, in the canyon. Joe Hurley and a gang of engineers had been down there all night, and the several charges of dynamite they put in at the barrier across the river brought the relief that had been hoped. In an hour a way was burst through the wall of fallen débris and the mad waters tore a passage to freedom.
The flood began to recede, and by the time the expedition got back from the canyon in the batteau, the mud hole of Main Street could be seen again from the site of the Great Hope. Joe Hurley looked grave, however, when he rejoined his friends in the little shack of an office.
“It’s done a sight of damage,” the mining man said. “A lot of folks will have to double up till new shacks can be built. The church—Tolley’s old place—is standing, Willie.”
“I see it is,” returned the parson. “But I miss some buildings——”
“You miss one in particular,” said his friend quickly. “I don’t know but you and Betty are chief among the flood sufferers.”
“What do you mean, Joe?” Betty asked quickly.
“The hotel. It was undermined and is in ruins; looks like it had been rammed. Oh!” as he saw Betty pale, “nobody was hurt. Cholo Sam and Maria are safe. Fact is, not a life lost as far as we know. It might have been a whole lot worse. We had great luck.”
“Great luck!” murmured Betty, looking at Nell, whose face likewise showed a strange anxiety.
“Talking about luck,” added Hurley suddenly. “What do you know about old Steve and Andy? They’ve been out all night.”