He cursed the conventions which forbade his staying and watching over the girl back there in the house which already stood upon an island, cut off from the safe, high land by a strip of backwater that was widening and deepening every minute, and, when it rose high enough to flow into the river below, would have a current that would make a nasty crossing.
On the first rise he stopped and looked back at the light which shone out from among the dripping cottonwoods.

Even then he was tempted to go back and brave her anger that he might feel assured of her safety.
"Oh, come on," Park cried impatiently.

"We can't do any good sitting out here in the rain.

I don't suppose the water will get clear up to the house; it'll likely do things to the sheds and corrals, though, and serve Jack right.

Come on, Bud.