Hoofbeats on the Turnpike Part 32

"Thank G.o.d you are safe," the message read. "A special circuit will be cut through to the Delta station as soon as possible. Can you give us a complete, running story of the flood?"

"What's a running story?" Quigley asked curiously.

"I think Dad wants me to gather every fact I can," Penny explained. "He wants a continuous story--enough material to fill a wire for several hours."

"You'll do it?"

"I don't know," Penny said doubtfully. "I've never handled a story as big as this--I've had no experience on anything so important."

"There's no other person to do it."

"I want to find Louise," Penny went on, rereading the message. "I ought to try to learn what happened to poor Mrs. Lear and the Burmasters."

"Listen," Quigley argued quietly. "You can't do anything for your friends now. Don't you see it's your duty to get news out to the country? Your father expects it of you."

Penny remained silent.

"Don't you realize there's no one else to send the news?" Quigley demanded. "You're probably the only reporter within miles of here."

"But I'm not really a reporter. I've written stories for Dad's paper, it's true. But not big stories such as this."

"Red Valley needs help. The only way to get it is by arousing the public.

Do I wire your father 'yes' or 'no'?"

"Make it 'yes,'" Penny decided. "Tell Dad I'll try to have something for him in an hour."

"You'll need longer than that," Quigley advised. "Anyhow, it's apt to be several hours before we get a special wire through."

While the agent sent the message, Penny searched the office for pencil and paper.

"You won't get far without shoes," Quigley said over his shoulder. "What became of yours?"

"Left them over on the hillside."

"Well, you can't go back for them now," Quigley replied, gazing ruefully through the window at the racing torrent which separated the station from the high hill. "Let's see what we can find for you."

He rummaged through the closet and came upon a pair of boots which looked nearly small enough for Penny.

"We had a boy who wore those when he worked here," he explained. "See if they'll do. And here's my coat."

"Oh, I can't take it," Penny protested. "You'll need it yourself."

"No, I'm sticking here at my post," Quigley answered. "I'll be warm enough."

He insisted that Penny wear the coat. She left the station and waded toward higher ground. The coat over her drenched clothing offered only slight protection from the chill wind. With the sun dropping low, she knew that soon she would actually suffer from cold.

Penny wondered where to start in gathering vital facts for her father.

The flood had followed the narrow V-shaped valley, cutting a swath of destruction above Delta, and there spreading out to the lowlands. She decided to tour the outlying section of Delta first, view the wreckage and question survivors.

"If only Salt were here!" she thought. "Dad would want pictures, but there's no way for me to take them."

Keeping to the hillside, Penny reached a high point of land overlooking what had been the town of Delta. Two or three streets remained as before.

One of the few business places still standing was the big white stone building that housed the local telephone company. Elsewhere there was only water and scattered debris.

Penny headed up the valley, pa.s.sing and meeting groups of bedraggled refugees who had taken to the hills at the first alarm. She questioned everyone. Nevertheless, definite information eluded her. How many lives had been lost? How great was the property damage? What fate had befallen Mrs. Lear and the Burmasters? No one seemed to know.

Half sick with despair, she kept on. She jotted down names and facts. Mr.

Bibbs, an old man who ran a weekly newspaper at Delta, was able to help her more than anyone else. Not only did he give her a partial list of the known missing, but he recited many other facts that had escaped Penny.

"A million thanks--" she began gratefully, but he waved her into silence.

"Just get back to the railroad station and send your story," he urged.

Penny lost all count of time as she retraced her way along the muddy hillside. Everywhere she saw suffering and destruction. Her mind was so numbed to the sight that she recorded impressions automatically.

It was long after nightfall before Penny reached the station. Every muscle protested as she dragged herself wearily to the doorstep. During her absence the flood had lowered by nearly a foot. However, the current remained swift, and she steadied herself for a moment against the building wall.

"Who's there?" called Quigley sharply.

"Penny Parker."

"Okay, come on in," the agent invited. "Thought you might be a looter."

Penny pushed open the door. The waiting room was filled with men, women and children who slumped in cold misery on the uncomfortable row of seats. Few were provided with any warm clothing.

Penny splashed through the dark, musty room to the inner office. Quigley had lighted a smoky oil lamp which revealed that he had made himself a bed on top of the telegraph desk.

"I'm turning in for the night," he explained. "There's nothing more we can do until morning."

"How about my story to the _Star_?" Penny asked wearily. "Is the special wire set up yet?"

"Don't make me laugh," Quigley replied. "The Dispatcher's wire went out for good over an hour ago. Too bad you killed yourself to get that story, because it will have to wait."

"But it mustn't wait," Penny protested. "Dad's counting on me. I gave my promise. How about the telephone company?"

"Their lines are all down."

"Western Union?"

"It's the same with them. Repair crews are on their way here but it will take time. The valley's completely cut off from communication."

"For how long?"

"Listen, Penny, you know as much about it as I do. The airfields are under water."

"How about the roads?"

"Open only part of the way."