A FEARFUL RIDE.
A dull, increasing roar, like the moaning of the Indian Sea, when the
cyclone is being born, struck the ears of the whites, all of whom
paused in their conversation and listened, wondering what it meant.
The horses showed signs of restlessness and fear, but they were held
sternly in check, while the riders bent all their faculties into that
of hearing; and by a common instinct, every eye was turned toward
Lightning Jo, as if inquiring of him an explanation of the strange
sound.
What the scout thought can only be conjectured; but there was a scared
look upon his face that gave all the most gloomy forebodings, and they
awaited his words and actions with an intensity of anxiety that can
scarcely be described.
The roar, which now drowned every other sound, was like that made by
the approaching train, and it had that awful element of terror which
comes over one when he feels that a peril is bearing swiftly down upon
him from which there is no escape.
“Onto your hosses, every one of you! Cut ’em loose from the wagons, and
don’t wait a minute!”
The voice of Lightning Jo rung out like a trumpet and was obeyed on
the instant, while by another imperious command of his, the women and
children were taken upon the backs of the animals in front of the
hunters.
Quickly as all this was done, it was not a moment too soon. In reply to
the questioning looks of his friends, the scout pointed up the ravine
in the direction whence they had come.
At first sight, there seemed to be a mass of discolored snow spinning
down the canon; but the next moment all knew that it was the foam
and spray of water, rushing down upon them with the impetuosity of a
Niagara.
“Hold fast!” called out Jo; “but there’s no use trying to fight it!”
Even while the words were in his mouth, the appalling torrent came upon
them!
There was a blinding dash of spray and mist, and then every horse, with
its rider, was carried as quick as a flash off his feet, and shot down
the canon like a meteor.
Egbert Rodman, the moment he realized the nature of the danger, reached
forward and caught the hand of Lizzie Manning, intending to place her
upon the horse, in front of him, as many of the other scouts had done;
but ere he could accomplish the transfer, the shock was upon them,
and in the stunning, bewildering crash, he was only sensible of going
forward with tremendous velocity, down the canon, among his friends,
who were all impelled onward by the same resistless force, that made
them, for the time, like bits of driftwood heaped in the vortex of the
great maelstrom.
“Lizzie! where are you?” he called out, in his agony, groping blindly
about him in the tornado of mist, and driftwood, and water; “reach out
your hand that I may save you!”
He heard something like an answering cry; but in the rush and whirl, he
could not tell the direction nor the point whence it came; and had he
known that only a half-dozen feet separated them, it was no more in his
power to pass the chasm than it was for him to turn and make headway
against the _chute_ that was carrying every thing before it with an
inconceivable velocity.
It would be impossible to describe the appalling scene in the canon.
Those who lived to tell of it, in after years, shuddered at its
recollection and declared that its terror was greater than any through
which they had ever passed. The little group who sat waiting and
conversing upon their horses had scarcely been caught up and shot
forward, when the gloom of the approaching night deepened to that of
the most intense, inky blackness, so that no man, speaking literally,
could have seen his hand before his face.
It would have made no difference had it been high noon, so far as the
question of helping themselves was concerned, although it might have
lessened in some degree that shuddering, shivering dread that possessed
all, under the expectation every moment of being dashed to fragments
against the projecting rocks, or crushed by the _debris_ that was
carried tumultuously forward in the rush and whirl of the waters.
“_Stick to your hosses, and take things easy!_”
The voice of Lightning Jo seemed to come from a point a thousand
yards away--whether above or below could not be told by the sound;
but all knew that he was somewhere in the torrent, and there was
something reassuring in the sound of his ringing voice in this general
pandemonium of disaster and death. It encouraged more than one
despairing and helpless, and they clung the more tightly and took some
courage and hope.
“Jo, can you hear my voice?” called out Egbert Rodman, with the whole
strength of his lungs.
“I reckon so,” came back the instant answer.
“Tell me, then, whether you have Lizzie with you, or whether you know
where she is.”
“No; can’t tell; thought you and her were together. We’ll fetch up
somewhere purty soon--daylight will come in the course of a week--and
then we’ll hunt for each other. No use till then--so you keep your
mouth shet, and look out that you don’t get your head cracked.”
These seemed heartless words to Egbert; but they were really dictated
by prudence and common sense, and he acted upon the advice, so far as
it concerned the questioning of the scout.
The mustang of our young friend was swimming as well as he could down
the _chute_, striving only to keep himself afloat. His body was beneath
the water, his nose and head only appearing above. Up to this time
Egbert had maintained his place upon his back, himself sinking of
course to the armpits; but when he heard the warning words of Lightning
Jo, he understood how the projecting point of some jagged rock might
pass over his animal’s head, and crush his own.
Accordingly he quietly slipped back over the animal’s haunches, and
submerging himself to his ears, held on to the tail of the animal, in a
position of greater safety--if such a thing as safety can be named in
reference to the party caught by the torrent in the canon.
Egbert had scarcely adopted this precautionary measure, when he had
reason to thank Lightning Jo for the timely warning.
Something grazed the top of his head, like the whiz of a cannon-ball,
proving with what amazing velocity he was shooting down the canon.
“How can any one get out of this horrible place alive?” was the
question he asked, as he realized the narrowness of his escape. “We
must all be shattered to pieces before going much further. Ah!--”
Just then a wild cry rung out above the din and roar of the waters--the
cry of a strong man in his last agony. Driven as if by a columbiad
against some flinty projection, he had only time to make the shriek as
the breath was driven from his body.
As this spinning downward through the chasm continued for several
moments, Egbert endeavored to collect his senses and to think more
clearly upon his terrible position.
He was morally certain that a number of the party had already lost
their lives, and a twinge of anguish shot through his heart as he
reflected upon the females and the tender children exposed to this
perilous war of elements. And then, too, the wagon containing the
remains of those who had fought so gallantly in Dead Man’s Gulch--what
a ghastly fate had overtaken them! It seemed, indeed, as if nature
had joined with man in heaping unimagined horrors upon the heads of
the weak and defenseless, and that nothing remained but to await
shudderingly the fate that could not be postponed much longer.
But amid the rack and turmoil and swirl of the canon, the thought of
his beloved Lizzie Manning would present itself, and he could not help
wondering, doubting, fearing and hoping all in the same breath.
Was she living and had she survived the ordeal uninjured up to this
time? Or had her gentle nature succumbed at the first shock? She had
proven herself a heroine in Dead Man’s Gulch, and was she equal to
this? If still living, how much longer could she bear the strain upon
her system?
But ere Egbert Rodman could conjecture any replies to these questions,
he was called upon to make a still more desperate fight for his own
life.
His mustang, encountering some obstruction, made such a sudden, furious
plunge, that his tail was drawn from the loose grasp of Egbert, who,
aiming to renew it, clutched vaguely in the darkness and was unable to
reach his faithful animal. He could hear him floundering and neighing
close at hand, but there was no use of attempting to reach him, and he
called to the horse, in the hope that he would succeed in making his
way to him; but he was disappointed in this also, for the noise of the
struggles speedily ceased, and he concluded that the faithful animal
was dead.
Rather curiously the young man had clung to his rifle ever since he
was caught by the water tornado, and now that he was somewhat cooler
and more collected, he resolved that nothing but “death should them
part.” It was troublesome to swim with it grasped in one hand, but he
was quite able to do it, where the current possessed such extraordinary
velocity, and he moved forward with little effort on his part.
All this passed in a tenth part of the time taken by us in writing it,
and Egbert Rodman had scarcely gained a connected idea of what was
going on, when he made the discovery that the channel through which he
had been dashed was widening and considerably decreasing. The deafening
crash that had been in his ears from the moment he was carried off
his feet, now sunk to a dull noise, proving that he had emerged from
the canon, and was floating over what might be termed a lake--caused,
undoubtedly, by the widening of the pass through which Lightning Jo had
attempted to guide the little party, with its two wagons.
With this discovery of the comparative calmness of the water, came,
for the first time, something like returning hope to Egbert Rodman,
who, feeling confident that there must be a tenable foothold at no
great distance, began swimming forward regularly, so as to avoid being
carried around in a circle.
Of course such a basin as this must have an outlet as well as an inlet,
and it was his purpose to prevent himself being carried away into
another similar canon, from which it was hardly possible to make such
an escape over again.
This required severe effort, but happily it was accomplished sooner
than was expected. While swimming vigorously forward, his feet touched
bottom, and although scarcely able to maintain his foothold, yet by
using arms and legs and grasping some branches that brushed his face,
he succeeded in drawing himself out upon land, and found himself free
from the flood.
“Saved at last, and thank God for it!” was his fervent ejaculation.
“But what of the rest?--what of the women and children? and
Lizzie--where can she be?”
All was of inky darkness about him, and he hardly dared to move for
fear of plunging himself into some inextricable pitfall. Only by
feeling every foot of the way as he advanced, did he manage to get away
from the immediate neighborhood of the din and rush of waters.
Sinking down upon his knees, he crept along for some distance in this
manner, until, as near as he could judge, he was in a sort of valley or
ravine, much broader than the one in which he and his friends had been
overwhelmed by the flood, and which seemed to have escaped the rush of
water that had been driven through that.
Finding that it remained comparatively level, he finally rose to his
feet again and advanced with more speed, but at the same time, with the
caution due such a critical situation.
The wind was still blowing with a desolate, wailing sound, but the rain
had ceased entirely; and the night, pitchy dark and cold, could not
have been more desolate and cheerless.
“Halloa!” suddenly exclaimed the astonished Egbert, “yonder is a light
as sure as the world! Who can be camping out to-night? Be he friend or
foe, I must find out.”
With this resolution he started toward the star-like beacon.