“You just missed the start of one downpour after another then,” he said. “The rain’s been hard on folks who’ve got new crops in or young calves out on pasture. One of my regulars lost a panicky little heifer that drowned in a swollen creek.”

I couldn’t see much beyond the slick mud of the road in the truck’s headlights. “You hear how anybody else is doing?” I asked. “The Lundgrens?”

“Hanging in there, I think,” the driver replied. “I saw the one kid in town yesterday, getting sandbags.”

“The kid? Maggie Lundgren?”

“No. Her brother, Nate.”

“He must have got the weekend off then. Are you going by their place?” I asked.

“Yeah. You want me to drop you off?”

“If you would, I’d be obliged.”

I’d hoped somebody would be up already, but the Lundgrens’ was still dark when the truck left me at the drive. Not wanting to wake the whole family, I walked around back and knocked on the window of Nate’s room off the kitchen.

“Hey, it’s me. Moss,” I called softly.

I heard Nate mutter and then repeat, “Moss?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you . . . just a minute.”

A moment later a kerosene lamp lit up in the kitchen, and then Nate let me in. If I’d expected a welcome, I didn’t get it. He looked exhausted and like he didn’t want one more thing to deal with. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I thought maybe you could use some help. I’m on a pass till this evening. But, look, I’m sorry I woke you. If you want to go back to bed, I can stretch out in here for a couple of hours.”

He fed some kindling into the stove and coaxed along glowing coals. “I need to be up,” he said. “You want to put some water in the coffeepot while I do this?”

I worked the pump at the sink, letting the first, dirty jet of water go by and then catching the clean that followed. “The man who dropped me off said the weather’s been causing problems. Are you all going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “We’re worried the wheat and barley will wash out.”

“You don’t think the contour rows will be enough to protect them?”

“From rain, maybe. Not from the gush of water we’ll get if the reservoir dam breaks.”

“Breaks! Why would it?”

“Because the spillway’s failing. When the water level went way up Friday and yesterday, the concrete started breaking away in chunks. The floodgate’s already torn out.”

So it wasn’t just the top lift that was bad, like Mr. Caldwell had hoped.

“Does anybody know why?” I asked.

“Scotty swears the mixing was all done right, and he vouches for the quality of the sand, gravel, and water. That just leaves faulty cement. It’s got the guys really angry.”