she saw all too clearly now. The trestle-work had given way; the curving
mile of flume, fallen into the stream, and, crushed and dammed against
the opposite shore, had absolutely turned the whole river through the
half-finished ditch and partly excavated mine in its way, a few rods
further on to join the old familiar channel. The bank of the river was
changed; the flat had become an island, between which and the slope
where she stood the North Fork was rolling its resistless yellow
torrent. As she gazed spellbound, a portion of the slope beneath her
suddenly seemed to sink and crumble, and was swallowed up in the rushing
stream. She heard a cry of warning behind her, but, rooted to the spot
by a fearful fascination, she heeded it not.

Again there was a sudden disruption, and another part of the slope sank
to rise no more; but this time she felt herself seized by the waist and
dragged back. It was her father standing by her side.

He was flushed and excited, gazing at the water with a strange
exultation.

"Do you see it? Do you know what has happened?" he asked quickly.

"The flume has fallen and turned the river," said Christie hurriedly.
"But--have you seen him--is he safe?"

"He--who?" he answered vacantly.

"George Kearney!"

"He is safe," he said impatiently. "But, do you see, Christie? Do you
know what this means?"