“Not here!  Not here!” he yelled.  “Get across the river first, Nell!  That wave is coming!”

Indeed it was.  And the toll-bridge keeper did not appear, and the gates were shut.  But Helen Cameron was excited now and her racing blood was up.  She never hesitated at the frail barrier, but drove straight through it, smashing the gate to kindling wood, and smashing their own wind shield as well.

Out ran the toll-man then; but they were half way across the bridge; he could barely have raised the other gate had he set about it instantly.  So they went through that, too, leaving him bawling and shrieking after them, but soon to learn by looking up the river what Tom meant by his excited words as the motor car swept by.

Helen slowed down at the smithy.  There were several men there and a number of wagons.  The trio in the car screamed at them:  “The dam has burst!  The flood is coming!” and then started up again and swept through the little village, looking back to see the group at the smithy running in all directions to give the alarm

Now the road, clear to the Red Mill and beyond, ran within sight of the river.  The mill was all of ten miles away.  The valley was low here and as far as they could see ahead it broadened considerably on this side of the Lumano.  But the hills arose abruptly on the farther bank and all the force and mass of the flood must sweep across these meadows.

As the car moved on, Helen tooted the horn constantly.  Its blasts alone should have warned people of what threatened, without Tom’s frantic shouts and gesticulations.  They were obliged, however, to slow down before several houses to make the occupants understand their danger.

They were not half way to the Red Mill when the roar of the advancing tidal wave was apparent even above the noise of the auto.  Then they saw the crest of the flood appear around the bend and the already heavily burdened waters dashed themselves upon the toll-bridge.  It crumpled up and disappeared like a spider-web bridge, and the flood rolled on, the wave widening and overflowing the lowlands behind the automobile.

Ahead of them now upon the road there was a single foot-passenger—­ a man carrying a heavy basket.  He seemed so far from the higher ground, and so determined to keep to the road, that Ruth cried out and laid her hand upon Helen’s arm.  The latter nodded and shut off the engine so that the automobile ran down and almost stopped by this pedestrian.

“Here, you!” shouted Tom, from the tonneau.  “Get in here quick!  There’s no time to lose!”

Much of what he said was lost in the roaring of the waters; but the fellow understood him well enough, and scrambled into the car with his basket.  It was Jasper Parloe, and the old man was shaking as with palsy.

“My goodness gracious!” he croaked, falling back in the seat as the car darted away again.  “Ain’t this awful?  Ain’t this jest awful?”