There I heard of a cloudburst at Atwood, thirty-odd miles up Beaver Valley from Cedar Bluffs. Cloudbursts weren’t uncommon in spring, so I paid little attention to the report and spent a couple of hours dickering over a few cattle. When I moved on, the next rancher told me that a second tremendous cloudburst had followed the first and that Atwood was flooded, with water at the highest point ever known. Beaver Creek was certain to overflow at Cedar Bluffs in any such flood and Marguerite, the children, and the stock might be in serious danger unless there was plenty of advance warning, so I put in a phone call right away. Effie said that word had been telephoned through within minutes after the first cloudburst struck, that she’d put out line calls up and down the valley, and that everyone was safe. Bob, she said, had left for a load of corn just before the word came through, but made it back in time to get the family, horses, and cows out. “Bill Justice and a couple of boys from town here fetched out the furniture,”
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