Midsummer passed, and the storms came late.  But when they arrived they made up for tardiness.  Belding did not remember so terrible a storm of wind and rain as that which broke the summer’s drought.

In a few days, it seemed, Altar Valley was a bright and green expanse, where dust clouds did not rise.  Forlorn River ran, a slow, heavy, turgid torrent.  Belding never saw the river in flood that it did not give him joy; yet now, desert man as he was, he suffered a regret when he thought of the great Chase reservoir full and overflowing.  The dull thunder of the spillway was not pleasant.  It was the first time in his life that the sound of falling water jarred upon him.

Belding noticed workmen once more engaged in the fields bounding his land.  The Chases had extended a main irrigation ditch down to Belding’s farm, skipped the width of his ground, then had gone on down through Altar Valley.  They had exerted every influence to obtain right to connect these ditches by digging through his land, but Belding had remained obdurate.  He refused to have any dealings with them.  It was therefore with some curiosity and suspicion that he saw a gang of Mexicans once more at work upon these ditches.

At daylight next morning a tremendous blast almost threw Belding out of his bed.  It cracked the adobe walls of his house and broke windows and sent pans and crockery to the floor with a crash.  Belding’s idea was that the store of dynamite kept by the Chases for blasting had blown up.  Hurriedly getting into his clothes, he went to Nell’s room to reassure her; and, telling her to have a thought for their guests, he went out to see what had happened.

The villagers were pretty badly frightened.  Many of the poorly constructed adobe huts had crumbled almost into dust.  A great yellow cloud, like smoke, hung over the river.  This appeared to be at the upper end of Belding’s plot, and close to the river.  When he reached his fence the smoke and dust were so thick he could scarcely breathe, and for a little while he was unable to see what had happened.  Presently he made out a huge hole in the sand just about where the irrigation ditch had stopped near his line.  For some reason or other, not clear to Belding, the Mexicans had set off an extraordinarily heavy blast at that point.

Belding pondered.  He did not now for a moment consider an accidental discharge of dynamite.  But why had this blast been set off?  The loose sandy soil had yielded readily to shovel; there were no rocks; as far as construction of a ditch was concerned such a blast would have done more harm than good.

Slowly, with reluctant feet, Belding walked toward a green hollow, where in a cluster of willows lay the never-failing spring that his horses loved so well, and, indeed, which he loved no less.  He was actually afraid to part the drooping willows to enter the little cool, shady path that led to the spring.  Then, suddenly seized by suspense, he ran the rest of the way.