THE TERROR OF THE PRAIRIE.
There was no need of Lightning Jo telling what it was that so startled
him, for following the direction of his own gaze, every eye saw it on
the instant.
On the upper margin of the precipitous chasm or canon, through which
they were making their way, at a point about a hundred feet above
and directly over them, was the apparition which had so startled
Captain Shields when in Dead Man’s Gulch. The mustang was standing as
motionless as then, and the same quadrupedal nondescript was perched
upon his back, its black head turned a little to one side, while it was
evidently gazing down upon them with a fixed, intense stare.
“The devil will be to pay now,” growled Jo, just loud enough to be
heard in the roaring wind; “but it’s too late to put back, and we’ll
press ahead.”
And resolutely compressing his lips, he drove his mustang to the head
of the cavalcade and forced him into a gallop along the canon, the
others, of course, following his example.
Neither Egbert nor Lizzie had made the least reference to this
apparition, while in converse with the scout, for the reason that
each knew he bore the reputation of being a practical man, and would
only laugh and tell them that it was a “spook,” that their fright and
sufferings caused to appear to their own minds--an explanation which
both were inclined to accept up to this point.
But Jo had scarcely started ahead, when several large drops of rain
pattering here and there in the gorge, warned them that the threatened
deluge was at hand. The winding of the canon, at the point over which
they were now hurrying, was such that there was comparatively little
about them, although it moaned and sobbed over their heads like the
desolate wailing of lost spirits.
“Hurry up, Jo!” yelled Gibbons, from directly in the rear of the
lovers, “or we shall be drenched!”
No need of shouting to the scout, who at that moment made a dash a
little to one side, and then wheeling his steed squarely about, halted
and motioned to the others to join him on the instant.
The shelter was reached.
The horse of the scout stood on the same level with the bottom of
the canon; but, the rocky side of the latter, instead of sloping
perpendicularly upward, inclined far out over their heads, so that
the upper margin projected fully twenty feet further over than did
the base, thus giving them the very protection for which they were so
hastily seeking.
The party lost no time in arranging themselves beneath this roof, and
in a few minutes the two wagons came lumbering up, the horses forced
to a much more rapid gait then they had yet attempted.
They had barely time to reach the spot, when the bullet-like drops
that had been pattering faster and faster, suddenly and prodigiously
increased, and the storm broke forth.
The scene was fearfully sublime--and such as our pen scarcely dare
attempt to depict. The rain came down in such blinding torrents that
the top of the gorge was shut out from the view of the whites, and
a dim, watery twilight gloom enveloped them all. The thunder, that
had been somewhat diminishing for the last few minutes, now burst
forth in rattling, tremendous discharges, as if heaven and earth were
coming together--while the vivid, intense lightning seemed to be
everywhere--rending rocks and trees, and playing along the canon in its
arrowy flight, setting the whole air aflame.
All stood awed and hushed--no one daring to break the stillness, and
scarcely moving during this war of the elements. It seemed as if it
were blasphemy for man to seek to speak or interpose during the moments
when nature herself was speaking in such trumpet-like tones.
But the storm was as short as it was violent; and, as the booming
thunder retreated and gradually died away, in sullen reverberations,
the fall of rain slackened, and just as the afternoon was drawing to a
close, the last drop fell.
The appearance of the mustang and its strange rider seemed to have
produced a remarkable effect upon Lightning Jo, who had lost all his
vivacity and humor, and was thoughtful and silent.
“Are we to remain here all night or go forward?” asked Egbert, walking
to where Jo stood, leaning against the rocks, with arms folded and
moody brow.
“Go forward,” he replied, almost savagely, as he raised himself. “What
do we want to stay here for?”
“I see it is nearly dark, and Fort Adams is still a number of miles
away. We shall not be able to reach there until far into the night.
Why not encamp where we are and finish the journey leisurely in the
morning? There seems to be no particular danger.”
“I tell you there _is_ danger,” was the fierce reply of the scout; “did
you see that _Thing_ on the mustang?”
“Yes; and I have seen it before.”
“And so have I, and I can tell yer it means something. When that comes
’round, there’s the worst kind of deviltry close on to its heels; you
can bet on _that_.”
“Then we are not yet through with the Indians, after believing we were
perfectly clear of them.”
“I didn’t say _that_--but what I mean is that some deviltry is brewing;
we’re right in the middle of these hills, and the best thing we can do
is to get ahead while we can.”
“Hush!” exclaimed Lizzie Manning, in an awed voice; “what is the
meaning of _that_?”