The exhausted swimmer was dragged to the roof. He lay there, completely done, conscious, but no more than that. “Where in Mexico you haided for, anyhow?” a voice drawled. Hollister looked up. The speaker was the cowboy Dusty, who had once dragged him back to the Diamond Bar K ranch at the end of a rope. One of the others he recognized as the lank rider Burt, who also had been present on that occasion. “Lucky you were here,” the rescued man said. “I was all in.” “Tha’s twice I done roped you,” Dusty reminded him. “I sure got bawled out proper last time. Say, howcome you in this Arctic Ocean, anyhow?” “I was trying to reach Betty Reed. She’s in a broken bit of the house at the Steeples. At least some one is.” “It’s her all right. We drifted down here ’bout an hour ago. She’s been singin’.” “Singing?” “Hymns. ‘How Firm a Foundation,’ an’ like that. Her an’ the kid an’ Mandy. Say, fellow, it’s been one heluva night if any one asks you.” Burt spoke. “Was you tryin’ to swim to where Miss Betty’s at? You’ve got guts. You didn’t hardly have a chanct with all the water in the hills a-b’ilin’ down.” “She can’t be far from here if you heard her sing.” “Not fur. Mebbe a hundred yards. Mebbe twice that fur. But I wouldn’t tackle that swim for a million dollars. I never claimed to be no fish,” Dusty explained. “Downstream from here?” “Yep. Over thataway. See the Steeples through the trees?” The cowboy asked for information: “How much longer do you reckon the water from yore dam is gonna keep on comin’?” “Not much longer now.” “Well, I’ve sure had a plenty. An’ they call this a dry country.” “Wish you’d rub my arms and legs. I’m cold,” the engineer said. They massaged him till he glowed. Tug stepped to the edge of the roof and studied the current. Presently he spoke to the others. “Much obliged for your help, boys. I’ll be going now.” “Going where?” asked Dusty, mouth open from astonishment. “To the Steeples.” “You darned son of a gun! What’s got into you, fellow? You been drowned once to-day--’most. Ain’t that enough?” “I can make it there now.” “Never in the world.” The puncher was emphatic. “We come through by the skin of our teeth, with a roof under us. This ain’t no swimmin’-pool. If you know when you’re well off, you’ll stay where you’re at.” Tug did not wait to argue the matter. His business would not wait. He waved a hand and dived from the roof. The problem before him was a simple one. Whether it could be solved, he did not know. While being carried down, he must fight his way as far across the valley as possible. He might be swept close to the Steeples and yet not be able to make a landing. If he failed to do this, he was lost. He did not stop to see what headway he was making. All his energy went into the strokes with which he cleft the water. With every ounce he had he fought to gain distance. Within a minute or two he would know whether he had won.