His companions had barely time to follow
before a sudden and inexplicable rise in the waters of the creek sent a
swift irruption of the flood through the race. In an instant its choked
and impeded channel was cleared, the race was free, and the scattered
debris of logs and timber floated upon its easy current. Quick to take
advantage of this labor-saving phenomenon, the Lone Star partners
sprang into the water, and by disentangling and directing the eddying
fragments completed their work.
"The Old Man oughter been here to see this," said the Left Bower; "it's
just one o' them climaxes of poetic justice he's always huntin' up.
It's easy to see what's happened. One o' them high-toned shrimps over
in the Excelsior claim has put a blast in too near the creek. He's
tumbled the bank into the creek and sent the back water down here just
to wash out our race. That's what I call poetical retribution."
"And who was it advised us to dam the creek below the race and make it
do the thing?" asked the Right Bower, moodily.
"That was one of the Old Man's ideas, I reckon," said the Left Bower,
dubiously.
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