Already along the hillside a yellow gash was deepening from the dam site through the fenced fields where ran the right of way; while in the Pinas, low at this season, the traverse section of the river bed had been cleaned out and the base of the dam was building of stones and brush.
Late on a certain afternoon Ruth Gardner and Imogene Martin stood waiting by a gray runabout at the edge of the camp.

A storm was sweeping up the Ventisquero Range from the south, one of the autumn storms that marked the change of seasons, enveloping, as it advanced, the gray peaks one after another in its fog and trailing over the mesa gauzy brown streamers of rain.

In the west the sun still shone unobscured, but with its light failing to a chill saffron glare as the cloud expanded over the sky.
Bryant and another man, a newcomer in the last few days, an engineer from the East representing the bondholders, were walking toward the girl from the dam.

As the men walked, they engaged in rather spirited argument.
"You'd better hurry, you two," Ruth called.

"Don't you see that rain coming?
Imo and I want to reach home, Mr.Gretzinger, without being soaked." Bryant's companion waved an assuring hand without ceasing his rapid and forceful statement addressed to his fellow.