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.
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