"'All clear your side?" said Findlayson. The whisper rang in the

box of lattice work.

"Yes, and the east channel's filling now. We're utterly out of
our reckoning. When is this thing down on us?"

"There's no saying. She's filling as fast as she can. Look!"
Findlayson pointed to the planks below his feet, where the sand,
burned and defiled by months of work, was beginning to whisper
and fizz.

"What orders?" said Hitchcock.

"Call the roll - count stores sit on your hunkers - and pray for
the bridge. That's all I can think of Good night. Don't risk
your life trying to fish out anything that may go downstream."

"Oh, I'll be as prudent as you are! 'Night. Heavens, how she's
filling! Here's the rain in earnest.

Findlayson picked his way back to his bank, sweeping the last of
McCartney's riveters before him. The gangs had spread themselves
along the embankments, regardless of the cold rain of the dawn,
and there they waited for the flood. Only Peroo kept his men
together behind the swell of the guard-tower, where the
stone-boats lay tied fore and aft with hawsers, wire-rope, and
chains.

A shrill wail ran along the line, growing to a yell, half fear