Over the Potomac,

On into the night,

Over Rappahanock

In the moonlight white,

Over Mattapony

Into the set-of-moon, Over the Pamunkey,

So to Richmond soon-
All the way a-shouting

At taverns and at farms,
All the way to daybreak,
Spreading the alarms.
My first papers rendered,
Eating as I sped,
Southwest, inward, darting
Where Appomattox led,
Forded over Nottoway,

To North Caroline.

Changed my mount at Hillsboro
Found the new one fine.
Men dashed out in Lexington,
I could hear them cry:

"Who's that riding like the wind,
Wild of hair and eye?
He's an express-rider."

"Aye!" I shouted. "Aye!"
Swung my wallet o'er my head.
"Here's the stuff! To war!
Wake up! War with England!
Arm!" And, swift and far,
Took the road to Salisbury
Where the hills begin;
Had to swim a bridgeless stream
Known as the Yadkin.

Salisbury to Morgantown,

High the mountains rise;

Horse went bravely trackless ways
Pointing to the skies,

Northwest into borderlands

Of the Tennessee,

Unakas, Great Smokies,-up!
Night-o'ertaken, we,

Horse and I, go on and on,

II

Though an Indian, hid,
Took a shot. It hurried us-
That was all it did.
"Jonesboro! Arise! Arise!
Fight! The war's begun!"
Roaring cataracts at dawn;
Glad to see the sun.

New mount through the Cumberlands;
Scarcely eat or sleep;
Crystal rivers to be swum,
Forests dense and deep!
Over the escarpment,
Down the palisades,
Into lovely valleys,

Into fertile glades.

A detour at Knoxville,

Hunting Governor Blount,
Lost a day. At Nashville, he.
Nashville, home! Remount!
Nashville, home, one night I slept..
Then to Southland turn,

Where the roads were all unknown

And no time to learn;

Natchez and New Orleans bound,
Miles, six hundred more!
Hostile Indians on the way.

Past a settler's door;

Sometimes through the piny woods,

Close-set and no trail,
Sometimes by the river-side,
Sometimes by a pale

Silver stream; or sunk in swamp
To my horse's back,
Sometimes on a scented path

By the bayou's track.

Tired? Eyes that could n't close-
They'd forgot the way.

Poor old horses! I was hard,

Merciless. By day

And by night, they had to go!

July 'd just begun

Here, to Governor Claiborne, "War!"
And my race was done.

IF

F it had n't been for that low grade in algebra, Peter might never have gone to Utah at all, and certainly Ned and the others would never have experienced a coulée wash. On such slim threads are destinies strung!

It was a dreadful grade, and Peter was both wretched and indignant, for he had tried. Figures, especially the puzzling ab-c2-x kind, were simply out of his line, and he had n't been able to understand them enough to pass the course. and the things that came to pass because of it.

Hence the failure

Serious as the matter was, Judge Melville could n't resist teasing his son. "They say that if we ever talk with Mars, it will be through the medium of figures," he chuckled. "And in that case, Peter, you, out of all the world, will be unable to talk with Mars!"

To Mrs. Melville, the failure was an unhappy occurrence because it meant that Peter's chance to make the senior honor-roll was gone. He would be graduated from Fenswick High School with his class, of course, but without distinction.

And the judge considered it somewhat tragic because it meant that Peter could not enter Bowder College that autumn as a full-fledged fresh

man.

He could enter "on condition," perhaps; otherwise, he would have to wait a year, and try in that time to pass the entrance exam in algebra. Both ways the judge found unpleasant.

As for Peter himself, it must be confessed that his chief sorrow lay in the fact that he would not be playing on the freshman football team at Bowder that year. Not to play-and it had been his one ambition since early high-school days! Even if he did enter on "con," as his father would doubtless urge him to, he would not be eligible now.

All told, the Melville household was decidedly disgruntled over the algebra grade. It had put a monkeywrench into their plans.

As Peter pondered his difficulty, it seemed impossible for him to remain in Fenswick. To know that the teams were starting practice, and not to be a part, would be almost too much to bear. He did n't want to be on hand for the season at all.

But where to go? Thinking it over, he thought he 'd like to go to some small town to work, where he would have plenty of time to study

By MARGERY RUFF

the bugaboo algebra. He promised himself that he would plug away at it every night, and perhaps a year of such work might fit him for the exam in the following autumn.

On the coast, with his cousins? It was tempting, but Peter dismissed it. "I'd not get anywhere with studying, there. It would be time wasted. Ned 'd always be taking me away from my work. No, that won't do."

There were other possibilities, but Peter was reluctant about them allall, that is, but one rather hazy one. Some seven years before, Judge Melville's partner, Jack Munson, had gone out to Arizona to regain his health. After a year's rest, he had started a fruit-ranch in southern Utah, and the judge rarely heard from him.

Peter decided, however, to write Uncle Jack, as he had always called him, and invite himself to the ranch.

Matters seemed to develop with surprising speed after that. Word came very shortly that Uncle Jack would be delighted to have Peter visit him; the judge presently agreed to the idea; and Mrs. Melville made sudden plans to accompany Peter for part of his journey and to visit her aunt in Colorado.

And that explains how Peter came to be on the Hanging Creek Ranch that fall, instead of on the Bowder football-field-explains, too, why the Melvilles decided to drive out to Utah the following summer to bring Peter back. For it is not about Peter's year that I want to tell you, but about the end of his year-and the visit of the Melvilles and the Allenbys.

Peter had arrived at the ranch in August.

"Just in time," he wrote home, "for the fall rains. I did n't know there was so much water in the world! Uncle Jack's ranch is miles away from anywhere, and we can't get to any towns, because the roads are washed away-at least, we have n't tried to."

And it was the following July when the judge's party left for the West. Besides the Melvilles, there were Peter's two cousins, Ned and Betty. The Allenbys, with their children, Tim and Ellen, were making a trip to California, and were accompanying the Melvilles as far as the Utah ranch. It was a beautiful trip, with many stop-overs at interesting places along the way, so that it was early in August before they arrived at Hanging Creek Ranch.

They came late in the evening. "Oh, Peter, we 're all so thrilled to be here at last!" cried Betty, after the greetings were over. "We've come through such dreadful deserts to get here! We have n't seen a tree for ever so long-just cactus, and those funny prairie-dogs!"

Peter turned amused eyes on Uncle Jack, who was grinning broadly. "Well, Betty, I 'm afraid you 've got to stand some more cactus," he said. "It travels all the way to Wyoming, and all the way south into Arizona-except for the Kaibab Forest. But I was just as surprised as you, when I came out here. I thought I was completely out of the world. You know," he turned to his father, "I could n't imagine where the fruit-ranch was, when Uncle Jack brought me to this shack. As far as you can see on all sides, it 's just the same rolling prairie, with cactus and sage-brush.'

Ned's face showed mingled surprise and disappointment.

"Good night!" night!" he burst out. "Peter, have you been kidding us about the fruit? Trot out that ranch, old fellow!"

It was Uncle Jack who explained the rest.

"The fruit-trees are about half-amile away, on a set of shelf-like ledges, below Hanging Creek," he began. "You see, nothing grows down here except by irrigation. We 've got about fifteen hundred peach- and plum-trees down there on those shelves. And Peter and I have been putting in more pipes and ditches to irrigate another stretch. Once you are sure of water, you know, the biggest problem is settled."

Every one seemed vastly relieved, after that. And being assured of a fruit-ranch, even though it was in a desert, they were glad to turn into bed after their long trip.

Since their departure from home, the days had piled up on each other at such an alarming pace that the judge's original idea of staying two weeks at the ranch had been given up. They had arrived on Monday and would stay until Saturday, the Allenbys going on to California, and the Melvilles returning to Fenswick with Peter.

It was a week of rest for the parents. Every morning Uncle Jack took them down to his orchards. He was fond of experimenting, and he found great enthusiasts in the Allenbys, who were

amateur gardeners. The judge was keenly interested in the irrigation system and the pump which Peter had installed that spring to carry water to the shack. Mrs. Melville and Mrs. Allenby spent one afternoon in putting up jams and jellies for Uncle Jack for the winter.

Peter took his young friends to the nearest town to get mail, the weekly paper, and needed provisions; he let them ride in turn on the two saddlehorses that Uncle Jack owned; and he put them to work in the orchard. Betty and Ellen spent hours of energy attempting to teach tricks to some pet prairie-dogs. But Ned grew restless in short order.

"Peter, old timer, how have you been able to stand 'this here now' desert for so long? I think I'd go plumb crazy," he said. "Is n't there a real live town to go to? Honestly, this place gives me the creeps at night. What did you two do for excitement all winter, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know," grinned Peter. "I studied, mostly. You know, that was why I came! Uncle Jack helped me with my algebra. We

have a radio, too. And on clear nights, Uncle Jack and I studied the stars. He's got a peach of a telescope." "Look here," broke in Tim, "what about

these western rodeos we always hear about?"

"Never saw one," said Peter, briefly. "Butwell, we might take a look at the 'Gazette'. Might be something doing around."

They searched

the newspaper of

a neighboring

enough amusement at Hanging Creek Ranch for his lively friends, and he did want them to enjoy the visit. "Sure! Fruita 's about sixty miles

thunder-cloud over in the west right now, and we 'll have rain to-night, that 's certain."

Nevertheless, the morning found them ready to go. Although the western sky was still black and heavy, the rain in the vicinity of Hanging Creek had been slight. None of the older people cared to go, so the five

"Rodeo to-morrow and Saturday!" Ned shouted. "Where 's Fruita, anyway, and let 's go-what?"

Peter hesitated only a moment. He realized that there was little

Colorado. I have n't been on that road recently; but I reckon it will be all right."

"If it 's dry," added Uncle Jack, when they told him of their plans for the next day. "There's a regular

tion held no fear for him now. Thanks to Uncle Jack's help, he was ready for it. Actually, he was looking forward to it with relish.

In his mind he pictured the campus, the almost sacred football-field, the college buildings. He mused on the

freshman welcome, the muddy "bagrush" that featured the entrance of each new class.

Peter's reverie ended abruptly and he brought the car to a sudden stop. His companions were too astonished to speak as they gazed at the creek in the coulée below and the last traces of a bridge. The gully was probably ten or twelve feet deep and fairly wide. The sides sloped gently down to the small stream of water, which appeared not more than a foot or so deep. The road bridge had been carried completely away. Some distance to the right of them stood the trestle for the railroad that ran ran parallel to the road they had followed, but at a higher elevation.

"Don't look scared," grinned Peter, as he saw Ellen's white face. "That happens even in the best of deserts. Uncle Jack said we might find a bridge or two out. The rain 's been heavy off there in the west, and it probably sent a regular river through the coulée. The bridge is just a wooden one, and when it was undermined, it fell into the water."

There were tracks down into the stream where other drivers had forded it, and Peter followed their example and crossed safely.

It was almost noon before Fruita came to view. The rest of the day flew by on wings. The rodeo was a marked success to the young eastern "dudes," as Uncle Jack had termed them. There was the traditional horse-breaking, the balky mules to furnish amusement, and rope-throwing.

"Real cowboys, too!" Ellen exulted. "I thought all the western cowboys had gone into the movies."

The rodeo dance after supper was almost too crowded to be pleasant, and the strenuous day had made them all tired.

"I'm dog-tired," laughed Ned. "And the air there's a bit thick, anyway! Let's start home. It will be a great old ride, and we 'll certainly be glad to get out of the crowd."

In a whisper he added to Tim, "I heard one of the men who just came in say that it was raining awfully over in the west. Think we ought to tell Peter?"

And Tim answered, "He 'd probably make us stay here for the night. I guess it will be all right, and we can take a chance. It is n't like mountain driving, anyway. All the danger we run is getting stuck in the mud."

They helped Peter put on the chains, and made sure that the towrope and shovel were at hand. Then they started on the homeward journey. It was about nine o'clock, and overhead the sky was bright with

stars. The moon in its second quarter was just rising out of the east. Whatever rain there had been, it was over for the night, beyond a doubt.

Tim was driving now, and he was profiting from Peter's example by going slowly and cautiously.

Presently they neared the coulée which had lost its bridge. And then, astonished beyond words, they gazed down the bank to find that the water had risen almost two feet higher than it was when they had forded it early that morning. "Hm! So the stream 's up!" commented Peter. "That's something else again!" "How come?" demanded Tim. "Guess it's been raining some more off yonder, and the streams always swell after a rain," he replied, knitting his brow as if attempting to solve a problem.

They piled out of the car to examine the bridgeless coulée at close hand, and for the first time noticed a car along the bank some yards away. Over one side of it a tent was spread. Apparently it housed some tourists who, finding the bridge out, were optimistically awaiting the morning.

"Look here, there's only one thing to do if we want to cross to-night," Peter told them. "We'll have to build up the bed with stones. It's much too deep to ford. At least, we 'll build it up so that the ignition won't get wet, and so we won't get stuck in the mud. Come on-hunt around for flat stones and big rocks."

His eyes anxiously scanned the sky toward the west where only one faint star shone dimly through a mass of clouds. However, if they found no further trouble, it would be possible to reach the ranch before the storm broke.

Makeshift road-building at best is a slow affair. And building in a creek at night, by auto lights, was no easy matter. Peter stood more than kneedeep in the stream, carefully fitting the rocks and stones into the muddy bottom. He had salvaged some pieces of wood, parts of the old bridge, and with these hoped to hold the stones in place. The water had gone down somewhat, and his stone path promised a sure footing for the car.

"Get in the car, Tim and the rest of you," finally Peter ordered. "I'll stay here to direct traffic. Don't start down the bank until I shout."

Tim had raced up the bank at Peter's first words and had n't heard the last direction. As soon as every one was in, he sent the car slowly down to the creek.

Then "Back, back!" they heard Peter shout. "Go back!"

And Tim, wondering, reversed the engine and backed up the grade onto the bank, Peter scrambling alongside and trying to push it up in his frenzied excitement.

As the noise of the engine died, there came a roaring that sounded like rolling thunder. The startled four in the auto turned frightened eyes upon Peter. Ellen was deathly pale. She had no doubt but that a pack of coyotes, or perhaps mountainlions, was bearing down on them. But Peter was not puzzled. A year had been long enough to initiate him into the vagaries of the coulée country. Quick as a flash he had reached into the car to turn the searchlight up the creek bed so that his friends might not miss the terrifying, awe-inspiring sight of the flood.

A huge wall of water-probably eight feet high, swept toward thema black, frothing monster, carrying with it huge rocks and trees and other wreckage. A deafening roar, and past them it swept, ruthlessly tearing at the contents of the stream bed as it sped along. The foaming waters now filled the coulée, and their speed seemed to be increasing momently. Once what appeared to be an automobile top swept by on the waves, a mute testimony of possible tragedy in the path of the flood. The watchers stared in speechless fascination at the swift-running water.

When the noise had lessened somewhat, Peter raised his voice to exclaim, "Try to find our nice little rock road now!”

And all of them burst into a torrent of questions and ejaculations.

"What does it mean, Peter? Jiminy, I would n't have missed that for anything! Think if we'd been caught down there carried right off-how did you know what it was-that car top!-and what to do now!"

"It's the beginning of the August floods," said Peter. "When it rains in the hills over to the west, the streams swell and tear along as this one did, taking out bridges and anything else in their path. That 's what happened here several days ago, when the bridge was carried away."

"How did you know it was coming?" asked Ellen, breathlessly. “I could n't understand when you shouted so frantically for Tim to back up the car."

"It's a rule of this country," Peter said, "always to stop, look, and listen before crossing a coulée. You can hear the flood-the rumbling undercurrent of it-for several miles. when you do, you take no chances on beating it to the other side."

And

By this time, the tourists were crowding out of the tent to find out

"Let's find another gested Tim, suddenly. the bridges are n't out. it, Peter?"

road," sug"Maybe all How about

Peter laughed. "Do you think this is Illinois? There is n't another road. There's no road, except this, that passes within forty miles of Hanging Creek. Another road! Listen, Tim, ask me a real hard one!"

"All right," chimed in Ned. "Why don't we ride across on the railroad trestle?"

Peter looked at him uncertainly. "That idea 's been running through my head, too," he confessed. "But I hesitated to say anything, becausewell, it is a little risky. And then, it is n't my car."

"But we 've got to do something," broke in Betty. "Imagine how worried the folks must be already! What time is it, anyway?"

Peter and Tim were without watches, and Ned's had stopped at seven that evening. Ellen's wristwatch had been broken during the excitement.

"Must be about twelve," thought Peter, to himself, as he scanned the heavens. "The Swan 's almost di

that, driving carefully, they could run the car over it. Tim was to drive.

"It 's Dad's car, and I 'm responsible for it, anyway, so I'll do it," he said stoutly; but his face was white. "Oh, I know I'm scared," he grinned; "but I'll try it. Ned, you come with me to direct the spotlight, and the rest of you cut along over before we start."

He ran the car some two hundred yards back from the coulée edge. Slowly and laboriously he brought it up the slight incline and onto the railroad tracks. This accomplished, Peter and the girls made their way across the bridge, and Tim slowly guided the big car along the tracks. To Peter, straining his eyes into the night, it seemed hours before the car left the bank and started bumping its perilous way across the trestle-hours and more! Before it had quite reached the middle, the car stopped.

"Engine killed, I suppose, and the starter won't work," Ellen said calmly, though her heart was pumping wildly. "Tim can fix it. That happened last week on a bad road in Colorado. It's a loose wire in the ignition, I guess."

So they waited on the other side, hoping that Tim would fix the loose wire.

But the minutes passed and they had not succeeded.

Peter walked along the bank impatiently. It would have helped if he could have built a fire. The girls were chilled from the night air, and he was still damp from his road-building experience. A fire would have helped to light the trestle, to say nothing of its cheering effect. But what wood the place could boast was watersoaked.

It was fully fifteen minutes later that Betty, interrupting Ellen and Peter, who were discussing the advisability of pushing the car, cried, "Peter! Was that a whistle?"

"What? I have n't heard a thing," he said.

"I have n't," put in Ellen.

Peter's startled eyes turned swiftly to the railroad-track, but only inky blackness met them in both directions.

"Did you think it was a train whistle, Betty?" he asked quickly.

"It was so faint-I don't know. Maybe it was n't a whistle at all," she answered. "But Peter, we have n't