There was no real sign of the river now, just a roiling, oily ribbon of liquid movement through muddy waters that reached everywhere. Clumps of brush rode down the ribbon. Now and then, the glistening side of a half swamped object showed as it swept past.

The girl crawled out into the renewing warmth of the sunshine, hugging her shoulders and still trembling. Her face was pale but set and her dark eyes smoldered with blame for Ben.

Out of compulsion to say something cheery, Ben Prime blurted, ``Well, we were lucky to be on soft ground when the first floodheads hit. At least, the wheels dug in. The soaking will put life back in the wagon, too.''

His wife didn't give a sign she'd heard. She was watching a tree ride wildly down that roiling current. Somebody was riding the tree. It raced closer and they could see a woman with white hair, sitting astride an upright branch.

She did not call out. But as the tree passed, she lifted an arm in gesture of better luck and farewell. They watched the tree until it twisted sharply on a bend. It speared up into the air, then sinking back, the up jutting branch turned slowly. The pale blob of the woman disappeared.

``There's the one who's lucky!'' the girl murmured harshly.

Ben's eyes strained with the bitter hurt, his homely face slashed with gray and crimson. Then he took off his wet boots and dropped down into the water to talk with the beasts, needing their comfort more than they needed his.