Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 1, February 1961

The bickering went on, seeming as endless almost as the hard driving rain, but at last they agreed on a figure of thirty-seven thousand. When it was settled, they grew impatient to get back to Cummins’ car, but the rain refused to let up, so they waited, until finally there came an abrupt cessation of its violence. Through the windows they saw the sky lighten a very little, and the sound outside changed to a delicate unsteady patter. They were donning their raincoats when the new sound began.

“My God!” said Tuttle. “What’s that?”

It was a far-off roar that rushed rapidly and irresistibly, swelling as it came until it had grown to a frightening thunder that seemed to submerge and surround them, holding interminably, finally to lessen to a huge rustling.

Cummins watched Tuttle’s paling face maliciously. He didn’t feel too comfortable himself, but it was good to watch the man fighting against panic. “Flash flood,” he explained at last.

“Well then, let’s get the hell out of here! What are we waiting for?”

“According to my information this ridge has never been under water. This shack’s been standing here a good fifty years, so we should be all right. Let’s take a look.”

The men went out, took a few steps and halted. The narrow strip of dry land which was the ridge still meandered before them, but everything else on either side was under water. It was as though they were standing within a restless lake across the surface of which white, foaming streams still rushed down from the heights.

“My God,” repeated Tuttle. “And this is what you’re selling! What makes it come so fast?”

“Same principle as a rolling snowball. Water flows together as it descends from a thousand different sources.” Cummins headed back along the ridge, but unhurriedly, aware that Tuttle was still afraid, savoring and prolonging Tuttle’s fear. Tuttle could not give up his dignity and run; he had to stick with this pace.

Therefore it was quite some time before the two men reached a view of what had happened out on the water.

Cummins saw it first, his suddenly rigid back bringing Tuttle to his side. Cummins’ immediate reaction was that of a surprised bystander, but then the implications grew clear and a sick feeling pushed into his middle. Why? he thought. Why right now?

“Looks like kids!” Tuttle was shouting in his ear. “Two boys.”

The figures stood a couple of hundred feet across the turbulent water on what had been a knoll, except that it was now about a foot under. The water raced and splashed over the boys’ knees as they hung on to some brush. They began waving and calling frantically at sight of the men.

“How soon’ll the water go down?” yelled Tuttle.

Cummins looked at him grimly, and pointed at the white streams still roaming over the lake, breaking into spray where they divided around the trees that rose from the flood. “Still going up.”

“The kids will drown. We’ve got to get help.”

Cummins grabbed Tuttle’s arm. The blind fool, he thought. Doesn’t he understand? “No time. It’s up to us. The surveyors keep some line in the shack. Let’s get it.” He turned and ran heavily, aware that after a pause Tuttle followed.

When the line was secured and fastened to a tree at a point opposite the marooned boys, Cummins rapidly stripped. Tuttle eyed him with a peculiar expression. “You really going in, Sheldon?”

“What the hell does it look like?”

“I take my hat off to you. I didn’t think you had it in you. I wouldn’t step into that torrent for anything.”

Cummins looped the line around his waist and ungracefully splashed into the flood. He gasped at the cold shock and struck into the turbulence. His muscles felt the strain at once and water surged into his nostrils. He was only a fair swimmer and he was too heavy but he forced his arms alternately ahead with savage persistence until it seemed that he had been swimming a very long time. Then he looked up and was stunned to discover that he had lost ground. The travelling water had moved him below the boys, although he was some distance from the ridge.

Cursing his stupidity in not allowing for the flow, he turned back, gained the ridge and flopped upon the ground, gasping, waiting until his breathing had slowed, paying no attention to Tuttle’s talk.

When he was ready he plunged in again a good distance above his first position. He noted that the boys were now submerged almost to their waists. He had to get them out on this try.

He swam powerfully, but tried to avoid haste, to conserve his strength. Soon his eyes lost all sight but that of the plunging water which struck at his face. There was no sound in his ears but the rushing and roaring of water.