“Very well, Mr. Cramer,” the Governor said. “I appoint you to take charge of the safeguarding of the river against a flood. I cannot promise immediate funds, however,--” Peter dismissed that point with a gesture. “I expected to finance the Cramer Dam from start to finish,” he said bluntly. “I still expect to do that. All I ask is to be left alone.” They had reached the flat rock, on the river bank opposite the shacks. Peter sent a glance that way, saw that the shacks were standing, apparently unharmed, and dismissed from his mind the thought of danger to his family. With the engineer beside him, the Governor and others behind him, he kept straight on to the dam site. He was wondering if that maniac, Old Jess, had thought to remove the big launch to a safe point around the bend above. If not, they might not be able to cross the river, should they want to do so. There were a few ticklish little points in the situation, he was bound to admit. Rawley let go his arm and turned away toward the camp, and Peter called after him. “Have Gladys and Nevada cook a big breakfast, son. We’ll be back in an hour or so. And look out for another blast. But it will be a lot farther off than this one was. Have plenty of hot coffee.” “You bet!” Rawley promised, his heart curiously light. Angry or pleased, Nevada was very close. In another minute or two he would see her. There would be plenty to talk about, besides themselves. Just to hear her voice, he thought exultantly, would be a panacea for his loneliness. As he neared the place he stopped as though some one had thrust him back. Then he went on, running as he had not run from the small flood in the river. The shacks stood, unharmed save for gaping window sashes, splinters of glass sticking like flattened icicles to the edges. The porch of Nevada’s rock-faced dugout cabin stood upright, though slightly twisted. But behind the porch the rockwork was tumbled in a confused heap. At a certain place in the ruins, Anita was whimpering and tearing at the rock with her fingers. Two of the older children were trying to help. It was the sight of these which filled Rawley with a cold fear. They would not tear at the wreck of an empty cabin. Anita turned and stared at him dully. Then she pointed, her hand shaking as if she were stricken with palsy. “In there--Nevada,” she quavered. “My girl die, mebby! Lil time ago, speak to me. Now don’t speak no more. Mebby die.” “Get back, out of the way.” Rawley went up, looked at the place where they had been digging, and caught his breath. “A little more, and you’d have had the whole thing in on top of her. Don’t you see that wall just ready to topple? Kid, go get a pick and shovel. I’ll try the roof.”