CAUGHT FOUL.
NICK RIBSAM was partly right in his supposition about his missing
friend, Herbert Watrous.
That young gentleman rode along the lower trail, as confident as anyone
could be that he was right and Nick was wrong. He did not press Jill,
for the pony had done considerable hard riding during the day, but he
arrived at the end of his brief journey a little in advance of the
other.
“I knew it,” he said at the moment of catching sight of the pool of
clear water, which, like the spring, was slightly to the right of the
path; “there aren’t many brighter boys than Nick, but he makes his
mistake once in a while, like other folks.”
And then, as his pony walked forward to drink, his rider gave out the
signal intended to summon Nick to the spot.
“He will feel cheap when he finds he is wrong, but he is manly enough
to own up to it, and admit that some folks know——”
Sitting astride of his animal while he was helping himself to a drink,
Herbert made good use of his eyes. Just then he observed that, though
the pool resembled a natural spring, it was not. It was fed by a stream
pouring into the upper portion, as large as that which formed the
outlet, while there was no bubbling from the bottom.
“Whew!” whistled the astonished youth; “it begins to look as if it
wasn’t Nick that had made a slip—hello!”
At that moment the call came ringing down from the upper trail. The
matter was settled. Nick had struck the right spot, and all Herbert
could do was to ride back along the path to the fork and join him.
He was on the point of starting back, when it occurred to him that it
might be possible to shorten the distance by cutting across the neck of
land, as talked about before they parted. The promise of being able to
do so looked more encouraging from below than above.
Slipping down from the saddle, Herbert began picking his way through
the rough portion, and advanced several rods before reaching a section
where a horse would find the travelling difficult.
“He could make his way this far easily enough,” he said, halting and
looking back, “but it doesn’t seem so easy further on.”
He advanced more carefully, for he was beginning to doubt the
feasibility of the plan. It will be readily seen that while he was so
uncertain as to the best course, he was consuming more time than he
suspected. Night was rapidly closing in, and he was still debating what
was best to do, when he noticed the increasing cold.
“It’s the norther, sure enough!” he exclaimed, starting back to mount
his horse; “a little late, but it’s getting there all the same.”
In fact it “got there” with such emphasis that, before Herbert could
force his way to the pool of water, lie thought he would freeze to
death. There was no need of answering the signal of Nick, and, catching
sight of the outlines of what seemed a mass of rocks in the darkness,
he made for them, intent only on securing shelter for the moment, or
until the cutting wind abated enough to allow him to venture out to
recover his horse.
Meanwhile, the latter, who had had more than one previous experience
with northers, was trying to help himself somewhat after the same
fashion as his master. Since the arctic breath from the distant Rocky
Mountains came from the north, Jill began edging away from it by taking
the back trail, just as cattle drift before a long continued and
violent storm of sleet and snow.
It must not be supposed that the pony held any purpose of deserting his
master. He had never tried to do anything of the kind, and it would be
injustice to accuse him in the present instance; but the instinct of
self-preservation was as strong in him as in any other animal, and he
saw no other way of lessening his sufferings than by edging along the
back trail.
When he reached the fork where the two paths separated, he may have
recalled his situation and he may not. Be that as it may, it was
too much to expect him to face about and advance in the teeth of the
norther, before which he had retreated so far, unless he was compelled
to do so. No one was there to urge him with spur, and instead,
therefore, of turning his course, he kept on.
He had moved so reluctantly to this point that he did not reach it
until Nick Ribsam knelt down a short distance off and put his ear to
the ground. By this time, too, it probably struck Jill that he was
moving more slowly than was wise. He therefore struck a quicker gait,
speedily passing beyond hearing in the gloom, and leaving Nick puzzled,
mystified, and anxious beyond expression.
All this time, Herbert Watrous never dreamed that his pony was steadily
increasing the distance between them. If he had known it, he could
have taken no steps to prevent the mishap, for his whole mental and
physical energies were bent toward saving himself from perishing with
the fearful cold.
Nothing could have been more fortunate than his finding a small cavern.
It was really providential that he should stumble upon it, and he
would have fared ill had he failed to do so. It was of slight extent,
being no more than a dozen feet in depth, and of such narrow compass
that he bumped his head or struck his limbs against the sides at every
movement he made.
Crouching in the furthest corner, he huddled himself together as best
he could, and concluded there was hope of seeing the thing through,
provided it got no worse.
“If it drops another degree, I’m a goner!” he muttered, as well as he
could between his chattering teeth. “I don’t see what’s the use of
having such weather as this in Texas, when we can get all we want at
the North Pole. It beats anything I ever heard of in Maine; I’m glad
Nick has the blankets, for he must need them.”
For fully two hours Herbert shrank in his place, in the cavity among
the rocks. During most of that time, the wind moaned around the front,
as if seeking him out that it might freeze his very marrow. The hardest
thing for him was to comprehend that he was actually in Texas, where
but a brief while before the temperature was like a poet’s dream.
There was one thing, however, which he comprehended very clearly. If he
stayed where he was much longer, he would never come out alive. He had
not heard the second signal of Nick, but was confident that he was able
to take care of himself, with his almost unlimited supply of blankets.
There was one way of warming himself: that was by vigorous exercise.
That might not answer perfectly, but it must help matters. He,
therefore, crept out of his refuge, and began making his way down to
the pool near which he had left his pony. The gloom was too profound
for him to see anything distinctly, and he came within a hair of
pitching headlong into the water, along the edges of which a thin
coating of ice had formed.
It was at this time that Herbert was gratified to notice a decided
rising of the temperature. The relief was great, but not enough wholly
to relieve his sufferings. He called his pony by name, but of course
there was no response.
“He has been more sensible than me,” he concluded, “for he has gone
to the spring, where Nick has started a fire for him and made them all
comfortable while I suffered.”
The reader need not be reminded that once again Herbert was off in his
reckoning.
He spent the next ten minutes in jumping about, swinging his arms,
and going through the most violent gymnastics possible. The effect
was good. His benumbed limbs became supple, the chilled surface began
glowing, and a grateful warmth crept through his entire system.
It would have been folly to try to reach Nick by working across the
neck of bowlders and obstructions, and he started down the trail in the
direction taken by Jill, though he was a long way behind him.
This required no little care, even though he was following a distinctly
marked trail. In the darkness he received several severe bruises,
besides tumbling flat on his face more than once. But he kept his wits
about him, and made sure that he did not pass the fork, where it was
necessary to turn off and follow the trail taken by Nick, and which
had proven to be the right one.
Here it was necessary to use still greater care than before, for the
route was strange to him, and might contain dangerous pitfalls.
“Nick will wonder what’s become of me,” he reflected, maintaining as
lively a pace as he dared, “but I hope he hasn’t worried—halloo!
that’s good!” he added, as he caught the twinkle of a fire; “that’s
where I will find the good fellow, who has known enough to take care
of himself and the ponies, and would have done the same with me if I
hadn’t been so foolish.”