“Yeppy. You like her, Joe Hurley. You want to look out for her. Somebody has got to. That Dick Beckworth——” “Dick the Devil?” “You said it! He’s got something on her.” “He’s got something on Betty Hunt? Never!” “No use layin’ your hand on your gun butt. It needs something besides that. When fire’s touched to the end of the fuse, no use tryin’ to stamp on the ashes. It is burning toward the powder barrel. The thing’s started. Dick’s told it about her——” “Told what?” asked Hurley, almost shaking the girl. “That she was married back East, long before she come out here, and is posing here as an unmarried woman. He says he knows the man that was married to her.” Hurley was stricken dumb for the moment. Yet recovery was swift. He stammered: “She—she might. It’s no crime. She—she might have got a divorce and taken her maiden name again, if it’s true. But I wouldn’t take Dick the Devil’s word as to the color of the blue sky.” “He’s got a paper to prove it. I seen him show it to Boss Tolley. I run to get you. I saw you at the Wild Rose. I figger you are the one to tell the parson.” “And who’s to tell Betty?” Joe inquired. “I—I——” “Oh! What’s that?” exclaimed Rosabell, shrinking away. “I—I thought it was thunder.” A muttering sound grew in Hurley’s hearing, but he paid little attention to it at first. Was it this Betty had meant all the time, when she had kept him at arm’s length? When she had told him that there was somebody back East who, at least, had her promise? Then the air quaked as though there had been a volcanic upheaval within the immediate district of Canyon Pass. Rosabell shrieked and ran back into the gloom, disappearing toward the rear door of the Grub Stake. Joe ran out into the street, seeing other men coming from the shops and saloons. His gaze by chance was turned upon the wagon track down the slope beyond the West Fork. He saw a flaming patch of white there. It came down the wagon track with terrific speed. In a moment he realized that it was a white pony and rider. Lashing the steed the rider forced it into the West Fork. The animal had to swim for it. It seemed as though the stream had filled terrifically within the last few minutes. Out of the flood scrambled the pony. It was not until then that anybody recognized Nell Blossom and her cream-colored mount. She urged the horse up into the town and they heard her clear voice rising above the sullen thunder of the three rivers: “The Overhang! The Overhang! It’s down—it’s filled the canyon! Runaway River is stoppered like with a cork in the neck of a bottle. The flood is coming!” CHAPTER XXIX—HIS LAST CARD Hunt lingered in his sister’s room after Joe Hurley had left them. They were talking when Maria came up to take away the tea things. The Mexican woman was greatly excited. “Those bad men! She get it now—in the neck you say, si? My goodness, yes! He no run you out of town lak’ he say, Señor Hunt.”