A STRANGE ABSENCE.
NICK RIBSAM might well be puzzled. Just ahead and on his right was the
most enchanting natural spring of water that he had ever beheld. It was
circular in shape, fully two yards in diameter and ten or twelve inches
deep in the middle. From several places on the bottom the water bubbled
up in a way that tumbled the sand in miniature fountains, which hid the
current flinging the particles upward from below.
This basin was so clear that at first sight one was doubtful whether
there was any water there at all; but the bubbling sand and the
vigorous stream flowing away and across the trail, and losing itself
among the rocks and vegetation, removed all question on that point.
The spring was partly shaded by a black bowlder leaning so far over
that it seemed on the point of tumbling in, while the scene in the
immediate vicinity was rougher than any through which they had passed
since crossing the ridge.
Domestic as well as wild animals are quick to discern the presence of
water, and Nick had seen proof in the actions of Jack that he knew he
was near the spring, some time before he himself knew it. The three
were so pleased that they hastened their pace, and crowded their noses
into the cool element, of which they drank with an enjoyment beyond
description.
The youth meant to have a deep refreshing draught himself, but he had
not the heart to check the ponies. He could wait better than they; they
were not unclean animals, and the spring would quickly free itself of
all traces of the contact with their silken noses.
But while Jack was stretching his head downward and standing with one
fore leg bent at the knee, the better to reach the water, his rider
prepared to give the call for Herbert to join him, when he was taken
all aback by catching precisely the same signal from his friend.
There could be no mistake about it: he had heard it too often to
confound it with any other sound.
He had noticed, while riding along the trail, that the divergence
became more pronounced, thus separating him from Herbert by a greater
distance than he had anticipated. As nearly as he could judge from
the whistle, his friend was nearly, if not quite an eighth of a mile
away, and between them the slope was so filled with rocks, bowlders,
and stunted vegetation that travelling with a horse was out of the
question. A trained mountaineer would find the task anything but an
easy one. Herbert, therefore, must turn squarely about, and ride back
to the fork in the trail, thus travelling double the distance made by
Nick and the pack horses.
A moment’s reflection convinced the latter that Herbert had made
a natural mistake. The stream, winding its way in that direction,
probably formed a pool near the other part, so large and clear and
beautiful that the youth mistook it for the spring itself.
“But he will see his error,” reflected Nick, sending out the ringing
blast by which he had summoned his friend many a time; “he doesn’t like
to own up, but, when he looks upon this, he can’t help himself.”
Nick was convinced that there were few such natural springs in that
section of Texas, though similar ones are found in plenty further east
and among some of the mountainous portions.
The horses having had their fill, stepped back, and Nick began his
preparations for spending the night. Everything was taken from the
backs and heads of the animals and placed in a pile on the ground near
at hand, while they were left to crop the grass, which was green and
quite luxuriant in the vicinity of the stream.
By the time everything was complete, darkness had come. The animals
were not tethered, for there was little to be feared of their running
away, unless interfered with by outsiders, of which no one dreamed.
Nick now began to look for the coming of Herbert. Both paths were so
easily travelled that he ought to appear in the course of twenty
minutes, and a full half hour had gone by.
“I wonder whether anything could have happened to him,” said Nick,
gazing down the trail in the gathering gloom, and feeling a renewal of
the fears that troubled him so much in the afternoon.
He once more whistled with the power of a steam engine, and paused
for the response. It was impossible, as he had learned long before,
that Herbert should have made his way on horseback across the space
separating the trails, and he, therefore, gave his attention to the
route over which he himself had just travelled.
Nothing was to be seen of his friend, and the suspicion came to Nick
that possibly he was pouting because of his mistake, but the thought
was dismissed the next minute as unworthy of Herbert, who, if disposed
in that direction, was in no mood to do so at the present time.
“But where can he be?” repeated Nick, recalling the preceding winter,
when he went astray in the pursuit of the second moose and caused
himself and Pierre Ardeau no end of worriment of mind. As the darkness
increased, Nick Ribsam became aware of another discomforting fact. The
wind was beginning to blow, and the cold was rapidly increasing. The
norther prophesied by the Texans was at hand.
This being evident, he quickly prepared for it. He had gathered a
quantity of limbs and twigs, but they were unlighted, he intending to
await the arrival of his friend Herbert; but he now started the fire
as quickly as possible, for, aside from its needed warmth, it would do
much to dispel the gloom oppressing him.
Few who have not experienced a Texan norther can understand their
fierce suddenness. I was once riding in a stage in the southern part
of the State, the day was mild and balmy, and a middle-aged gentleman
from New York sat in the seat with me. His overcoat was in his trunk,
which was strapped at the rear of the stage. We were talking, when all
at once a norther came howling across the country. My friend shouted
to the driver to unstrap his trunk, so as to allow him to unlock it.
The driver promptly obeyed, the gentleman leaping out of the vehicle,
hastily unfastening his luggage, and bringing out the extra garment.
Only a few minutes were occupied, and yet his teeth were chattering
and he was shivering and blue with cold while hurriedly donning his
greatcoat.
A young man in Dallas told me he was standing on the opposite side
of the street in his shirt sleeves; a norther arrived; he struck
diagonally for his home on a dead run; that home was less than two
blocks off; he insisted that if he had been delayed on the way by so
much as a fall he would have frozen to death; but, somehow or other, I
think he exaggerated things.
But by the time Nick Ribsam had the fire going, he was shivering. He
gathered his heavy blanket closely about him and sat down near the
blaze, but was still cold. The ponies felt it. They shrunk against
the rocks and wherever they could find any shelter, and looked dismal
and wretched. No blankets had been provided for them, but the luggage
of the entire party was at command and Nick’s sympathy led him to
appropriate the articles without a moment’s hesitation. It was a kind
act and did much for the comfort of the dumb beasts.
What about Strubell and Lattin? They must suffer, but they were
acclimated and would find some means of warding off the full effort of
the cutting winds, without the help of extra clothing.
But poor Herbert! Nick fairly gasped as he thought of him. He was in
his ordinary costume, and of course had not started a fire. He would
not be likely to do so, since he was on his way to join Nick and would
depend on him for everything of that sort.
“Heaven save him,” prayed Nick, “but if he doesn’t arrive soon he must
perish. _Hurry, Herbert!_” he called at the top of his voice.
In his anxiety, Nick started down the path with the extra blanket flung
over his arm, while he was so swathed in his own that he resembled an
Indian chief, striding along the trail.
Night had fully come, and the sky, which had been quite clear during
most of the day, was overcast, so that he could see but a short
distance in any direction. Still he hurried on, confident every minute
that the forms of Herbert and Jill would loom to view in the darkness.
But rod after rod was passed, and they did not appear. Suddenly Nick
stooped down and placed his ear against the earth.
“I hear his pony’s hoofs!” he exclaimed, raising his head and peering
forward, “but why is he so long on the way?”
Applying his ear again, the startling fact was evident: the sound of
the horse’s hoofs was fainter than before. The animal was receding
instead of approaching.
“Something has gone wrong with the poor fellow, and what can I do to
help him?”