"It's right ahead of us! We're bound to git thar all hunk! Keep a-goin' like hot cakes, fellers! I know whar I'm at, yuh kin bet yuh boots!" He finished this rush of shouted words with his familiar old cowboy yell, as if to defy the rush of the flood and the fury of the summer storm. If they attained their goal and managed to get out of reach of the avalanche of water, it would be by the skin of their teeth. Lanky could not have uttered a word just then, no matter how desperately he tried, for his lips felt as dry as those of a fever-stricken mule-skinner in a caravan, and his breath was coming in pants, as of a hound that had run a long race in chase of a hare. Just when he was almost on the point of despairing and under the belief that Jerry must have miscalculated the time required to reach his escape valve from the canyon trap, Lanky heard the veteran give a joyous cry: "Hyah she is, boys, and the kentry's saved!" Never had such welcome words come to the ears of those fugitive treasure-seekers. It inspired them to keep up their efforts a fraction of a minute longer, though the closeness of the coming flood was enough in itself to urge them to astonishing agility. Jerry and his mount were turning abruptly to the left. Lanky wondered how it came he had failed to notice this single break in the continuity of those cruel granite walls when they were slowly ascending the face of the mountain chain. But it was there, just the same, and a good thing for the hard-pressed outfit. They straggled out of the canyon bed and climbed to higher ground with all the speed they could muster. There were not half a dozen seconds to spare, Lanky realized, with a shiver of horror, when he heard the sweep of the crest of the flood go rushing madly past, and even found his legs in water up to his ankles. How thankful they must feel, and with what lighter hearts would they stick to their isle of safety until the flood went down again. Paul could not contain himself, even though his wind was scant after his recent efforts. "Lanky, look! Oh, look! Here's Frank's pony close at my heels! But where is Frank?" At the words all of the party came to an abrupt halt, a feeling like ice gripping every heart. The roar and sweep of the flood was not quite so frightful as before, since its crest had gone by but a new terror now seized them. Was Frank caught in its terrifying grip? CHAPTER XIII WASHED AWAY What had actually happened to Frank Allen might easily be termed tragedy. What made it all the stranger was the fact that he owed it to the frantic eagerness of his pony to escape the clutch of the oncoming flood. Having been detained a little because meeting more obstacles than the others of the party, Frank was still in the canyon when the others turned out of it. Fascinated by the spectacle behind him, he turned his head in the act of climbing out to take one last fleeting look up the cut.