A Daughter of the Land

At the earliest possible moment in the spring, the building of the

mill began. It was scarcely well under way when the work was

stopped by a week of heavy rains. The water filled the ravine to

dangerous height and the roaring of the dam could be heard all

over town. George talked of it incessantly. He said it was the

sweetest music his ears had ever heard. Kate had to confess that

she like the sound herself, but she was fearful over saying much

on the subject because she was so very anxious about the stability

of the dam. There was a day or two of fine weather; then the

rains began again. Kate said she had all the music she desired;

she proposed to be safe; so she went and opened the sluiceway to

reduce the pressure on the dam. The result was almost immediate.

The water gushed through, lowering the current and lessening the

fall. George grumbled all day, threatening half a dozen times to

shut the sluice; but Kate and the carpenter were against him, so

he waited until he came slipping home after midnight, his brain in

a muddle from drink, smoke, and cards. As he neared the dam, he

decided that the reason he felt so badly was because he had missed

hearing it all day, but he would have it to go to sleep by. So he

crossed the bridge and shut the sluice gate. Even as he was doing

it the thunder pealed; lightning flashed, and high Heaven gave him

warning that he was doing a dangerous thing; but all his life he

had done what he pleased; there was no probability that he would

change then. He needed the roar of the dam to quiet his nerves.

The same roar that put him to sleep, awakened Kate. She lay

wondering at it and fearing. She raised her window to listen.

The rain was falling in torrents, while the roar was awful, so

much worse than it had been when she fell asleep, that she had a

suspicion of what might have caused it. She went to George's room

and shook him awake.

"Listen to the dam!" she cried. "It will go, as sure as fate.

George, did you, Oh, did you, close the sluice-gate when you came

home?"

He was half asleep, and too defiant from drink to take his usual

course.

"Sure!" he said. "Sweesish mushich ever hearsh. Push me shleep."

He fell back on the pillow and went on sleeping. Kate tried again

to waken him, but he struck at her savagely. She ran to her room,

hurried into a few clothes, and getting the lantern, started

toward the bridge. At the gate she stepped into water. As far as

she could see above the dam the street was covered. She waded to

the bridge, which was under at each end but still bare in the

middle, where it was slightly higher. Kate crossed it and started

down the yard toward the dam. The earth was softer there, and she

mired in places almost to her knees. At the dam, the water was

tearing around each end in a mad race, carrying earth and

everything before it. The mill side was lower than the street.

The current was so broad and deep she could not see where the

sluice was. She hesitated a second to try to locate it from the

mill behind her; and in that instant there was a crack and a roar,

a mighty rush that swept her from her feet and washed away the

lantern. Nothing saved her but the trees on the bank. She struck

one, clung to it, pulled herself higher, and in the blackness

gripped the tree, while she heard the dam going gradually after

the first break.