HOW DICK BROUGHT THE NEWS
"You ran it rather too close, Dick," said the professor, with a shake of
his head, when we had told him the story of our race with the storm. "I
was beginning to be afraid; not so much for you as for your companion:
it was too big an undertaking for him, considering that it was his first
day in the mountains; even leaving out the risk of the snow-storm."
"I'm afraid I was thoughtless," replied Dick, penitently; "especially in
not looking out for a change of weather. It did run us too close, as you
say--a great deal too close. But there is one thing I can do, anyhow, to
repair that error to some extent, and I'll be off at once and do it."
So saying, Dick, who by this time had finished his supper, jumped out of
his chair and began putting on his overcoat.
"Where are you off to, Dick?" I exclaimed. "Not going out again
to-night?"
"Only a little way," replied Dick. "Down to the town to let your uncle
know that you are all safe. He'll be pretty anxious, I expect."
I had thought of that, but I could see no way of getting over it. I
could not go myself, for even if I had dared to venture I had not the
strength for it, and of course I could not expect any one else to do it
for me. My first thought, therefore, when Dick announced that he was
going, was one of satisfaction; though my next thought, following very
quickly upon the first one, was to protest against his doing any such
thing.
"No, no, Dick," I cried, "it's too risky--you mustn't! Uncle Tom will be
worried, I know, but he will conclude that I am staying the night with
you. And though I should be glad to have his mind relieved, I don't
consider--and he would say the same, I'm pretty sure--that that is a
good enough reason for you to take such a risk."
"Thanks, old chap," replied Dick; "but it isn't so much of a risk as you
think. Going down wind to the town is a very different matter from
coming down that rough mountain with the storm beating on us from every
side. I've been over the trail a thousand times, and I believe I could
follow it with my eyes shut; and, anyhow, to lose your way is pretty
near impossible, you know, with the cañon on your right hand and the
mountain on your left. So, don't you worry yourself, Frank: I'll be
under cover again in an hour or less."
Seeing that the professor nodded approval, I protested no more, though I
still had my doubts about letting him go.
"Well, Dick," said I, "it's mighty good of you. I wish I could go, too,
but that is out of the question, I'm afraid: I should only hamper you if
I tried. I can tell you one thing, anyhow: Uncle Tom will appreciate
it--you may be sure of that."
In this I was right, though I little suspected at the moment in what
form his appreciation was to show itself. As a matter of fact, Dick's
action in braving the storm a second time that evening was to be a
turning-point in his fortune and mine.
"Good-night, Frank," said he. "I'll be back again in the morning, I
expect. Hope you'll sleep as well in my bed as I intend to do in yours.
Good-night."
So saying, Dick, this time overcoated, gloved and ear-capped, opened the
door and stepped out. Watching him from the window, I saw him striding
off down wind, to be lost to sight in ten seconds in the maze of driving
snow.
"Are you sure it's all right, Professor?" said I, anxiously. "There's
time yet to call him back."
"It is all right," replied my host, reassuringly. "You need not fear.
Dick has been out in many a storm before, and he knows very well how to
take care of himself. You may be sure I would not let him go if I
thought it were not all right. And now, I think, it would be well if you
took possession of Dick's bed. You have had a very hard day and need a
good long rest."
To this I made no objection, and early though it was, I was asleep in
five minutes, too tired to be disturbed even by the insistent banging
and howling of the storm outside.
Meanwhile, Uncle Tom, down in the town, was, as I had suspected,
fretting and fuming and worrying himself in his uncertainty as to
whether I was safe under cover or not.
The storm had taken the town by surprise, for the morning had opened
gloriously, clear and sharp and still, as it had done every day for a
month past, and most people naturally supposed there was to be another
day as fine as those which had gone before; little suspecting that the
north wind, up there among the icebound peaks and gorges of the mother
range, was at that moment marshaling its forces for a mad rush down into
the valley.
And how should they suspect? Of the three hundred people comprising the
population, not one, not even old Jeff Andrews himself, the patriarch of
the district, had spent more than two winters in the camp. In the year
of its founding there were about a dozen men and no women who had braved
the hardships of the first winter, but as the fame of the new camp
extended to the outer world, other people began to come in, slowly at
first and then in larger numbers, so that by this time the population
numbered, as I said, about three hundred souls, including twenty-one
women and two babies; while at a rough guess I should say there was
about two-thirds of a dog to each citizen, counting in the twelve
children of school age and the two babies as well.
These dogs, by the way, were the chief source of entertainment in the
town, for during the hours of daylight there was always a fight going on
somewhere, while at night most of them, especially the younger ones,
used to sit out in the middle of the street barking defiance at the
coyotes, which, from the hills all round, howled back at them in
unceasing chorus. This part of the programme was changed, however, later
in the winter, for one half-cloudy night the blacksmith's long-legged
shepherd pup, seated in front of the forge door, was barking himself
hoarse at the moon when a big timber-wolf came slipping down out of the
woods and finished the puppy's song and his existence with one snap.
After this the other dogs were more careful about the hours they kept.
But to return to the human part of the population. Considering how few
of them had spent a winter in this high valley; remembering that every
one of the grown-up citizens had been born in some other State, and that
the very great majority were newcomers in Colorado, it is not to be
wondered at that the storm should have caught them unawares. For, in
Colorado, if there is one thing almost impossible to forecast it is the
weather, especially in the mountains where it is made, where the
snow-storms and the thunder-storms, brewing in secret behind the peaks,
bounce out on you before you know it.
So, on this sunshiny morning, most people went about their usual
occupations unsuspicious of evil; it was only the few old-timers who
divined what was coming, and their little precautions, such as shutting
their doors and windows before leaving the house, merely excited a smile
or a word of chaff from the "plum-sure" newcomers. For it is always the
new arrival who thinks he can predict the weather; the old-stager,
having had experience enough to be aware that he knows nothing about it
for certain, can seldom be persuaded to venture a decided opinion.
Tied to a hitching-post outside the assayer's door that afternoon were
two ponies, and about two o'clock Mr. Warren, himself, and Uncle Tom,
issued from the house, prepared for their ride up on Cape Horn--a big,
bare mountain lying southeast of town. As they stepped down from the
porch, however, Warren happened to notice old Jeff Andrews walking up
the street, carrying over his shoulder a great buffalo-skin overcoat,
which, considering the warmth of the day, seemed rather out of place.
"Hallo, Jeff!" the assayer called out. "What are you carrying that thing
for? Are we going to have a change?"
Jeff, a gray-bearded, round-shouldered man of sixty, with a face burnt
all of one color by years of life in the open, paused for a moment
before replying, and then, knowing that the assayer was not one of those
"guying tenderfeet," for whom, as he expressed it, "he had no manner of
use," he answered genially:
"Well, gents, I ain't no weather prophet--I'll leave that business to
the latest arrival--but I have my suspicions. Just look up overhead."
The old man had detected the hurrying snowflakes passing across the face
of the sun, and though to Uncle Tom there was nothing unusual to be
seen, the assayer understood the signs.
"Wind, Jeff?" said he.
"And snow," replied the old prospector. "Was you going to ride up on
Cape Horn this evening, Mr. Warren? Well, if I was you, I wouldn't. Cape
Horn lies south o' here, and if a storm from the north catches you up
there on that bare mountain you may not be able to work your way back
again. If I was you, I'd put the ponies back in the stable and lay low
for a spell."
"Thank you, Jeff," responded the assayer. "I believe that's a good idea.
I think we shall do well, Tom, to postpone our trip. No use running the
risk of being caught out in a blizzard: it's a bit too dangerous to suit
me."
The ponies, therefore, were taken back to the stable and the two men,
returning to the house, sat down on the sunny porch to await
developments.
The snow-cloud was already half way down the range and it was not long
ere the murmur of the wind among the distant trees began to make itself
heard, giving warning of what was coming to a few of the more observant
people.
"It looks pretty threatening, Sam," said Uncle Tom. "I don't like the
way that cloud comes creeping down. I hope those boys will notice it in
time."
"I don't think you need worry about them," replied the assayer. "Young
Dick is well able to take care of himself. He knows the signs as well as
anybody."
"Well, I hope he'll notice them in time. Going indoors, are you?"
"Yes; if you don't mind, I'll leave you for the present. I have some
work I want to finish up. Let me know when it comes pretty close so that
I may get my windows shut. It will come with a 'whoop' when it does
come."
As the assayer rose to his feet, he observed across the street the
proprietor of the corner grocery standing in his doorway with his hands
in his pockets.
"Hallo, Jackson!" he called out. "You'd better take in those loose boxes
from the sidewalk if you want to save them: there's a big blow coming
pretty soon."
"Oh, I guess not," replied the grocer, a fat-faced, self-satisfied man,
one of those "dead-sure weather prophets" for whom old Jeff felt such
supreme contempt. "I reckon I'll chance it."
He cast a glance skyward, and deceived by the sparkling brilliancy of
the sun, he added under his breath, "Big blow! As if any one couldn't
see with half an eye that there isn't a sign of wind in the sky."
"All right, Jackson, suit yourself," replied Warren; adding on his part,
as an aside to Uncle Tom, "He'll change his mind in about half an hour,
if I'm not mistaken."
For about that length of time Uncle Tom continued to sit on the porch
watching the approaching cloud and listening to the increasing murmur of
the wind, when, on the crown of a high ridge about a mile above town he
saw all the pine trees with one accord suddenly bend their heads toward
him, as though making him a stately obeisance.
Springing out of his chair, Uncle Tom bolted into the house, slamming
the door behind him and calling out: "Here it comes, Sam! Here it
comes!"
It did. The roar of its approach was now plainly audible; there was a
hurrying and scurrying of men and women, a banging of doors and a
slamming down of windows; even the incredulous grocer, convinced at
last, made a dive for his loose boxes--but just too late.
With a shriek, as of triumph at catching them all unprepared, the wind
came raging down the street, making a clean sweep of everything. A young
mining camp is not as a rule over-particular about the amount of rubbish
that encumbers its streets, and Mosby was no exception to the rule, but
in five minutes it was swept as clean as though the twenty-one
housewives had been at work on it for a week with broom and
scrubbing-brush.
Heralded by a cloud of mingled dust and snow, a whole covey of paper
scraps, loose straw and a few hats, went whirling down the street,
followed by a dozen or two of empty tin cans, while behind them, with
infinite clatter, came three lengths of stove-pipe from the bakery
chimney, closely pursued by an immense barrel which had once contained
crockery.
As though enjoying the fun, this barrel came bounding down the roadway,
making astonishing leaps, until, at the grocery corner, it encountered
the only one of the empty boxes which had not already gone south, and
glancing off at an angle, went bang through the show window!
It was as though My Lord, the North Wind, aware of Mr. Jackson's
incredulity, had sent an emissary to convince him that he _did_ intend
to blow that day.
From that moment the wind and the snow had it all their own way; not a
citizen dared to show his nose outside.
It was an uneasy day for Uncle Tom. Knowing full well the extreme danger
of being caught on the mountain in such a storm, he could not help
feeling anxious for our safety, and though his host tried to reassure
him by repeating his confidence in Dick Stanley's good sense and
experience, he grew more and more fidgety as the day wore on and
darkness began to settle down upon the town.
In fact, by sunset, Uncle Tom had worked himself up to a high state of
nervousness. He kept pacing up and down the room like a caged beast,
unconsciously puffing at a cigar which had gone out half an hour before;
then striding to the window to look out--a disheartening prospect, for
not even the corner grocery was visible now. Then back he would come,
plump himself into his chair before the fire, only to jump up again in
fifteen seconds to go through the same performance once more.
At length he flung his cigar-stump into the fire, and turning to his
friend, exclaimed:
"Sam, I can't stand this uncertainty any longer. I'm going out to see if
I can't find somebody who will undertake to go up to the professor's
house and back for twenty dollars, just to make sure those boys have got
safe home. I'd go myself, only I know I should never get there."
The assayer shook his head.
"No use, Tom," said he. "You couldn't get one to go; at least, not for
money. If it were to dig a friend out of the snow you could raise a
hundred men in a minute; but for money--no. I don't believe you could
get any of them to face this storm for twenty dollars--or fifty, either.
They would say, 'What's the use? If the boys are in, they're in; if
they're not----'"
"Well, if they're not---- What? I know what you mean. You chill me all
through, Sam, with your 'ifs.' Look here, old man, isn't there _anybody_
who would go? Think, man, think!"
"We might try little Aleck Smith, the teamster," said the assayer,
thoughtfully. "He's as tough as a bit of bailing-wire and plum full of
grit. We'll try him anyhow. Come on. I'll go with you. It's only six
houses down. Jump into your overcoat, old man!"
The two men turned to get their coats, when, at that moment, there came
a thump upon the porch outside, as though somebody had jumped up the two
steps at a bound, the door burst open and in the midst of a whirl of
snow there was blown into the room the muffled, snow-coated figure of a
boy, who, slamming the door behind him, leaned back against it, gasping
for breath.
The men stared in astonishment, until the boy, pulling off his cap,
revealed the face, scarlet from exposure, of Dick Stanley.
"Why, Dick!" cried the assayer. "What's the matter? Where's young
Frank?"
"All safe, sir! Safe in our house, and in bed and asleep by this time."
"And did you come down through this howling storm to tell me?" cried
Uncle Tom.
"Yes, sir. But that wasn't anything so very much, you know: it was
down-hill and downwind, too."
"Well, you may think what you like about it--but so may I, too; and my
opinion is that there isn't another boy in the country would have done
it. I shan't forget your service, Dick. You may count on that. I shan't
forget it!"
Nor did he--as you will see.