T■ By Rob Lindquist he year was twenty-seven when the spillway done give out. ‘Rain, it come in torrents, fer two weeks, round about. The spillway failed and then a flood, the worst we ever saw, ‘Left the river clean of boulders; the canyon stripped and raw. It drowned Montgom’ry Webster, horse and pack horse, sure as hell. ‘Took the old man down the river in the flood’s almighty swell. ‘Pinned two men against a boulder in the rapids raging fury. One cried, “Help me out’a this!” the other, “What’s yer hurry?” A phone line saved those fellers; someone tied it to a rope, Then pulled the hawser toward those men

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