Bert Wilson's Twin Cylinder Racer Page 6

  CHAPTER VI

  THE BROKEN DAM

  How long he slept he did not know, but, while the cabin was stillshrouded in darkness, he woke suddenly and sat upright, as though inresponse to a voice that called.

  He looked about him, unable at first to realize where he was. Then, ashe reached out his hand, it came in contact with the motorcycle, whichhe had stood at the head of the bunk. His sleepy brain cleared, and theevents of the day before--the storm--the deserted cabin--came back tohim. He struck a match and glanced at his watch. It was a little afterfour, and, promising himself that he would not go to sleep again, heblew out the light and lay back in his bunk, planning out the ride forthe day so near at hand.

  But try as he would, he could not concentrate his mind on the subject inhand. Why had he awakened so suddenly? It was wholly apart from hisordinary habit. Usually he slept like a log, and, like a healthy animal,came slowly out of sleep. But this time it had been with a jump. He toldhimself that it was probably due to his unusual surroundings, andagain tried to pin himself down to his schedule. But a vague sense ofuneasiness would not vanish at his bidding. He felt as though somemonstrous danger was threatening. Something direful and evil was in theair. In vain he called himself an "old woman," and laughed, a littleuncertainly, at his fears. The subtle threat persisted.

  He had never had a strong premonition of danger that had not beenjustified. He was high strung and sensitively organized, and warningsthat would leave unstirred a duller mind rang in his consciousness likean alarm bell. He recalled how, at Panama, not long ago, he had beenimpressed by the same feeling of coming peril, when the plot to destroythe canal was rapidly coming to a head. It had been justified then. Whyshould he not trust it now?

  He hesitated no longer. He hastily threw aside the old tattered blanket,hurried himself into his clothes and went to the door of the cabin.

  The rain had ceased, although the water was still running in streams inthe ditches that lined the road. Darkness yet held sway, but, in theEast, he could see the gray fingers of the dawn. In the dimness, helooked about him, and, as his eyes became accustomed to the surroundings,he saw, at a little distance, the outlines of a great structure that laylevel with the plateau on which the cabin stood.

  With a few quick strides, he crossed the intervening space until hestood on the brink of a gigantic dam. Then he knew what was meant by thesplashing and gurgling he had heard the night before.

  Stretched out in front of him was an angry waste of swirling waters.It was yellow and turbid from the clay brought down by the mountaintorrents that acted as feeders to the lake. Great tree trunks, tossed inthe boiling waters, had been jammed against the edge, increasing thepressure, already great. Over the brink a cataract was falling, thatgrew in volume with each passing moment. Through crevices in the lowerpart of the structure, other streams were trickling.

  To Bert, as with whitening face he looked upon the scene, it was evidentthat the dam was in danger of collapse. There had been very heavy rainsin the preceding May, and the lake had been filled to capacity. The stormof the night before had probably developed into a cloudburst farther upin the mountains, and the floods that came down in consequence wereputting it to a strain that had not been counted upon when the dam wasbuilt. It was none too strong originally--Bert could see masses of rubblethat had been inserted in the structure in place of solid stone--andnow the innocent were in danger of paying a fearful price for thecarelessness or criminality of the builders.

  It had become much lighter now, and, as he looked down at the valleybelow, he could dimly make out the outlines of the houses in the town.Human beings were sleeping there, serene and confident, men, women andchildren, babes in their mothers' arms. And he alone knew of theterrible monster that at this moment was threatening to leap upon anddestroy them.

  He turned again to the dam. The crevices were wider now. A perfecttorrent was pouring over the brink. Even while he looked, there was agreat bulge in the central part, and a deluge burst through. Two of thecapstones yielded and fell, with a noise that was drowned by the stillgreater roar of the unleashed waters. There was no longer any doubt. Thedam was giving way!

  With a sickening fear at his heart, he turned and raced for the cabin. Alouder roar behind him added wings to his feet. He burst open the door,dragged out the "Blue Streak," and in another moment was in the saddleand riding for dear life down the valley.

  The mud was deep and at a curve of the road, his rear tire skidded andthrew him, bruised and bleeding, a dozen feet in advance. But he feltnothing, thought of nothing but the unconscious sleepers who must bewarned. Stumbling and shaken, he resumed his seat, and tore along themountain road like the wind.

  At the scattered farmhouses along the way, lights could be seen in thewindows. Here and there, he passed farmers already at work in thefields. He blew his horn and yelled at these and pointed behind him.They cast one startled glance up the valley and then rushed to theirhouses.

  He did not dare to look behind him, but he could hear a sullen roar thatmomentarily grew louder. He knew that the monster had broken its bondsand was abroad seeking for prey. He let out the last ounce of power thathe possessed as he raced on to the sleeping town. He had ridden fastbefore, but never as he was riding now.

  As he neared the town, he pulled wide open the siren that he only usedon extraordinary occasions. It wailed out in a wild, weird shriek thatspoke of panic, danger, death. There was no mistaking the meaning ofthat call.

  Now he was in the outskirts, and frightened faces appeared at thewindows while half-dressed men ran out of the doors. He waved his hand,and shouted at the top of his lungs:

  "The dam has broken. Run for your lives!"

  The roar had now swelled into thunder. The flood was coming with fearfulvelocity. No more need of his siren. That hideous growl of the tumblingwaters carried its own warning.

  The path on which Bert had been riding wound along the side of the hillto the east of the town. Corresponding slopes lay on the other side.The dwellers on the sides of the hills were comparatively safe. It wasunlikely that the water would reach them, or, at any rate, they couldclimb still higher up and escape, even if their houses were washed away.But there was no hope for the buildings in the valley itself. They wereright in the path of the onrushing flood and would be swept away like somany houses of cards. Nothing could resist that pitiless torrent nowless than a mile away.

  Bert leaped from his wheel and dragged it into a thicket at the side ofthe path. He cast a swift look up the valley. A great foaming wall ofyellow water, forty feet high, bearing on its crest gigantic tree trunksand the debris of houses it had picked up in its path, was bearing downon the town with the swiftness of an avalanche.

  The houses were emptying now and the streets were full of franticpeople, fleeing for their lives. Bert heard the hoarse shouts of themen, the screams of the women, the wailing of little children rousedsuddenly from sleep. From every door they poured forth, making desperateefforts to reach the higher ground. The air resounded with the shrieksof those driven almost mad by sudden terror.

  Into that pandemonium Bert plunged with the energy of despair. The timewas fearfully short and the tumult of the coming flood was like thethunder of Niagara. He met a mother with a babe in her arms and twocrying children holding to her skirts. He grabbed the little ones up andwith a tousled little head under each arm placed them in safety. Acrippled boy, hobbling painfully along on crutches, felt himselfsuddenly lifted from the ground and hurried to the hillside. He washere, there and everywhere, guiding, pointing, encouraging. And then,just as he was stooping to lift up a woman who had fainted, the floodwas upon him!

  It struck the doomed town with the force of a thunderbolt. Frame houseswere picked up and carried along like straws. Brick structures weresmashed into fragments. It was a weltering chaos of horror anddestruction.

  When that mountainous mass of water crashed down upon him, Bert for amoment lost consciousness. It was like the impact of a gigantic hammer.There was a
n interval of blackness, while the water first beat him downand then lifted him up. He had a horrible strangling sensation, andthen, after what seemed ages of agony, he found himself on the surface,striking out blindly in that churning mass of water that carried himalong as though in a mill race. He had never before realized thetremendous power of water. He was a mere chip tossed hither and thitherupon the waves. His head was dizzy from the awful shock of the firstimpact, there was a ringing in his ears, and the spray dashing into hiseyes obscured his sight. Almost mechanically, he moved his hands andfeet enough to keep his head above the surface. Gradually his mindbecame clearer, and he could do some connected thinking.

  At any rate, he was alive. That was the main thing. Although sore andbruised, he did not think that any of his bones were broken. He was anexpert swimmer, and knew that if he kept his senses he would not drown.His most imminent danger lay in being struck by a tree trunk or jammedbetween the houses that were grinding each other to pieces. If thisshould happen, his life would be snuffed out like a candle.

  Even at that moment of frightful peril, one thing filled his heart withgladness. He felt sure that almost all the townspeople had escaped. Hereand there, he could see some one struggling like himself in the yeastysurges, or clinging to some floating object. Once the body of a man wascarried past within a few feet of him. His last conscious glance beforethe flood overwhelmed him had shown him a number who had not yet reachedthe higher ground. These had been caught up with him, and some no doubthad perished. But he thanked God that hundreds, through his warning, hadfound shelter on the hillsides. Their property had been swept away, butthey had retained their most precious possession.

  The loss in animal life was heavy. Bert groaned, as he saw the bodies ofcows and horses and dogs tossed about in the raging waters. Not far off,a horse was swimming and gallantly trying to keep his head above water.His fear-distended eyes fell on Bert, and he whinnied, as though askingfor help. But just then a great log was driven against him, and with ascream that was almost human he went under.

  And now Bert noted that the force of the flood was abating. It hadreached the lowest part of the valley, and, ahead of him, the groundbegan to rise. With every foot of that ascent the torrent would loseits impetus, until finally it would reach its limit.

  But there a new danger threatened. There would be a tremendous backwashas the current receded, and in the meeting of the two opposing forces aterrific whirlpool would be generated, in which nothing human couldlive. In some way he must reach the shore before the flood turned back.

  There was not an instant to lose, and he acted with characteristicdecision. The torrent was slackening, and he no longer felt so helplessin its grasp. He could not swim at right angles to it and thus approachthe shore directly, but must try gradually to pull to the left, in along diagonal sweep. Inch by inch, he drew away from the center of thestream and slowly neared the bank. Twice he had to dive, to avoid treetrunks that dashed over the spot where he had been a moment before. Oncehe barely escaped being caught between two houses. But his quick eye andquicker mind stood him in good stead, at this hour of his greatest need.His lungs were laboring ready to burst and his muscles were strainedalmost to the breaking point. But his long powerful strokes brought himsteadily nearer to the eastern bank and he steered straight for a hugetree, that stood on the edge of the rushing waters. He missed it by afoot, but was just able to grasp a trailing branch as he was sweptbeneath it. A desperate clutch, a quick swing upward and the raveningwaters had been cheated of a victim. Slowly he made his way over thebough to the trunk of the tree, and fell, rather than dropped, to theground. Utterly exhausted, he crumpled into a heap and lay theregasping.

  He had escaped death by the narrowest of margins. Even while he laythere, bereft of strength and worn out with struggle, the flood reachedits limit, paused a moment and then rushed back. The receding currentmet the other still advancing. Like giant wrestlers, they locked in afierce embrace, and the waves shot up for thirty feet. Great logs flewout of the waves and fell back with a resounding crash. Had Bert beenin the center of that seething maelstrom, nothing could have saved himfrom instant death.

  But he was safe. He had gone into the very jaws of death and come outalive. Spent and wrenched and bruised he was, and weary beyond alltelling. Each arm and leg felt as though it weighed a ton. But he hadnever incurred pain or danger in a worthier cause, and he rejoiced atthe chance that had impelled him to take up his quarters in the desertedhut the night before. The rain had assuredly been a "blessing indisguise," bitterly as he had regretted it at the time.

  A full hour elapsed before he was able to get on his feet. Had itnot been for his splendid physical condition, he would have utterlycollapsed under the strain. But soon his heart resumed its normalrhythm, the blood coursed more strongly through his veins, and hestruggled up from his recumbent posture and began to take note of hissurroundings.

  How far he had been carried in that wild ride, he had no means ofknowing. But he judged that he must be fully six miles from the site ofthe town. There had been several turnings in the valley and from wherehe stood looking back, he could not see more than a mile before a bendin the road cut off his view. But the stream itself was sufficient guideas he retraced his steps, and he knew that all too soon he would reachthe sad and stricken crowd that would be camped on the banks, bewailingthe calamity that had come upon them with the swiftness of a lightningstroke.

  He looked at his watch. It had stopped at ten minutes to five, probablyjust at the second that the mountain of water swooped down upon him. Hethrew a glance at the sun which was only a little above the horizon, andconcluded that it was not much more than six o'clock. Scarcely more thanan hour had passed, but it seemed to him as though ages had elapsedsince the moment when he had been startled by that first premonition ofdanger.

  How lucky that he had heeded it! Had he obeyed his first impulse anddisregarded it, he would have been compelled to stand by, a helplessspectator, and see a whole community wiped out of existence. And thebitter memory of that neglected opportunity would have cast its shadowover him as long as he lived.

  His thoughts went now to the gallant machine that had carried him soswiftly to the work of rescue. Good old "Blue Streak!" Once more it hadproved a tried and trusty comrade, responding to every call he made uponit. How quickly the miles would fall away behind him if he only bestrodeit now.

  The wish had scarcely been formed before a substitute appeared. He heardthe sound of wheels, and a team came up behind him. The man who wasdriving told Bert to jump in, and whipped up his horses as he hurried onto the scene of the disaster.

  Soon they came upon the homeless throng, huddled upon the slope thatoverlooked what had been home. Some were weeping and running about, halfcrazed with anguish. Others were dry-eyed and dumb, moving as though ina dream, their minds paralyzed by the shock. They needed everything,food and tents and medicines and doctors and nurses. The telegraphand telephone service was out of commission and the offices had beenswept away. The outside world knew nothing, as yet, of the frightfulvisitation that had come to the little town, nestling in the WestVirginia hills.

  Bert's resolution was taken on the instant. There was nothing morethat he could do here. Little, in fact, could be done until the floodsubsided, and there were plenty of hands only too willing to dull theirheartache in work that would keep them from brooding too much on thedisaster. But no horse could get to the world without as quickly as heon his motorcycle. He waited only long enough to learn the shortestroute to the next town of any size. Then he rushed to the thicket on thehillside where he had left his wheel, and was rejoiced to find it safe.Fortunately, it had been beyond the high water mark of the flood. Hedragged it out, mounted, and, with one last look at the waters that hadso nearly been his grave, threw in the clutch and started up the valley.

  The sun was much higher now and the roads, while still muddy, wererapidly drying out. He cleared the summit of the hills and could see faroff the buildings and spires of the town
he sought. Like a meteor, heshot down the slope, and in a few minutes was the center of an excitedgroup in the telegraph office, to which he at once repaired. Soon thewires were humming, and within a short time the entire country, fromMaine to California, was stirred to the depths by the news of thecalamity. Doctors and supplies were rushed from the points nearest tothe stricken town and from Washington the Federal Government sent asquad of Red Cross nurses and a detachment of troops to take charge ofthe work of rescue and reconstruction.

  Only one thing was omitted from Bert's graphic recital of the story. Hesaid not a word of his wild ride in the early dawn. Others, later on,when they had regained something of composure and could recall eventspreceding the catastrophe, remembered a rider rushing along the countryroads and calling upon them to flee for their lives. They told of thesiren, shrieking like a soul in pain, that had roused them from theirsleep with its dreadful warning. The reporters, avid of sensation,listened eagerly, and embroidered upon the story some fancifulembellishments of their own. They did their utmost to discover the nameof the rider who had come racing through the mists of that earlymorning, but failed. The only one who could tell the truth about itnever did. Except to a few of his intimates, and that under the pledgeof secrecy, Bert locked the story in his own breast and threw away thekey. It was enough for him that he had been able at a critical junctureto do, and do successfully, the work that stood ready to his hand. Thedeed carried its own compensation, and he rejoiced that he was able tokeep it from public view. But, somewhere in West Virginia, a crippledboy remembered him gratefully, and two little youngsters were taught tomention a nameless stranger in their prayers.

  And now that nothing was left to do in behalf of others, Bert's thoughtsreverted to his own affairs. The day was still young, despite the eventsthat had been crowded into it. Up to this moment he had not thought offood, but now he was conscious that he was ravenously hungry. As soonas he could shake himself loose from the crowd that had listenedbreathlessly to his story, he went to the hotel and ordered an abundantbreakfast. When he had finished, he was once more his normal self. Hereplenished his gasoline supply, consulted his map, jumped into thesaddle and was off. Before long he reached the road that he had beentraveling the previous day; and, bending low over the handlebars, hecalled upon the "Blue Streak" to make up for lost time.

  The scenery flew past as in a panorama. Up hill and down he went atrailroad speed, only slackened within the limits of a town. In thisthinly settled country, these were few and far between, and he chuckledas he saw his speedometer swiftly climbing. The roads were drying out,and, though still a little heavy, had lost their clinging quality. In afew hours, he flashed into Charleston, where his ears were greeted bythe cries of the newsboys, calling out the extras issued on account ofthe flood. Staying only long enough to report his time and get a meal,he resumed his trip, and, before night, had left the worst part of thehills behind him and had crossed the border line into Kentucky, the landof swift horses and fair women, of Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone, the"dark and bloody ground" of the Revolution.

  It was a tired rider who almost fell from his saddle that night, afterhaving covered three hundred miles. A fierce determination had buoyedhim up and the most daring kind of rough riding had carried him through.Now the reaction had set in. An immense weariness weighed him down andevery separate muscle had its own distinctive ache. But his mind was atpeace. He had fought a good fight. A supreme emergency had challengedhim, and he had met it squarely. And no twinges of conscience for dutyunperformed came to disturb the sleep of utter exhaustion into which hefell as soon as his head touched the pillow.