DELTON RETURNS
Cyclones are somewhat rare visitors on the prairies, but when they do
come they make up for lost time. Bud, though he had lived the greater
part of his life on the range, had never seen one. Now he stood with
his face to the east, drinking in the awesome sight.
The eastern sky was covered with a blanket of black, ominous-looking
clouds, which quickly expanded and filled the whole heavens with their
darkness. The breeze had died away and a deathlike stillness hung in
the air. Nature seemed to be hesitating, gathering up her forces for a
tremendous onslaught. Suddenly the black clouds in the east were
tinted to a coppery color, which slowly turned to a dark green. And
still Bud stood, oblivious to all else save the grandeur of the scene
before him.
Within the ranch house the men were scurrying about, shutting windows,
glancing out now and then to see the progress of the approaching storm.
Billee Dobb ran to where the Kid was struggling with one of the sashes.
"How about the horses!" he yelled. Though there wasn't a sound
without, by a curious phenomena the men talked in shouts, as though
they were trying to make themselves heard above a roaring.
"Isn't Nort out there?" the Kid answered, also loudly. "Better make
certain, Billee! They'll be killed sure if the funnel takes them
sideways!"
"If the funnel hits us we won't care whether we ever saw a bronc or
not!" answered the veteran rancher. "We'll all be usin' wings then,
not ponies. I'll take a look outside."
"Take Dick with you! I'm finished here. We've only got about six
minutes before she hits. What a fine welcome this is! We no sooner
get settled, after havin' a time doin' that, when we're all set to get
blown away."
The Kid was hurrying to the back of the house. He hesitated as he
reached the kitchen, and looked in.
"By the ghost of my aunt Lizzie's cat!" he cried as he saw through the
doorway. "If that crazy Mex ain't still fryin' bacon just as calm as
if he was on Fifth Avenoo! Hey, you locoed Greaser, big wind comin'!"
He gesticulated vigorously. "Whosh-whosh! Whee! Zip-zip-bang! All
over! Savvy?" He stopped his dramatic explanation of the oncoming
cyclone to see if the Mexican understood. To his surprise the cook
nodded several times and pointed toward the sky, turning his other arm
windmill fashion. His lips gave forth a whistling sound. After this
demonstration he motioned to his bacon, rubbed his stomach, shrugged
his shoulders, and went on with his cooking. No words could have said
plainer:
"Sure! I know. Cyclone coming. What of it? Can't stop it now. Must
eat. Might as well stay here and cook. Hey?"
"Well, if you're not a cool customer!" the Kid cried, shoving his hands
deep into his pockets and tilting back on his heels. "Cook! Go ahead
an' cook! You might just as well say hello to St. Peter with a fryin'
pan in your hand as not. How does she look, Nort?" he asked as the boy
rancher came in the door.
"Not so good! Where's Bud?"
"Bud? I thought he was with you. Maybe he's helping with the
broncoes. I'll take a squint here in back--" as the Kid stepped into
the yard he saw Bud--standing silent, widened eyes staring at the sky.
The Kid started back in surprise.
"Another guy that's gone locoed! First the cook, and then you! Hey,
Nort, take a look at Bud. He's in a trance or something! Wake up,
time to get up!"
"Wonderful!" murmured Bud, without turning his head. "Isn't that
wonderful, Kid? See those colors! The most marvelous thing I ever
saw. If I could only paint that! It would be a sensation!"
"Sensation ain't all you'll be if you don't start movin' quick!" the
Kid declared. "Nort, take Bud with you and see if everything is all O.
K. We've got about three minutes before the show starts. I think
we'll be able to tell if the funnel is goin' to hit us, and if it does,
we've got to let things ride and head for the cellar."
He stopped suddenly. The five leaned forward, tense, still.
A low moaning filled the air. First like the drone of a huge
bumble-bee, it gradually increased in intensity. The ranchers strained
their eyes toward the east, where the copper tint had merged to a
sickly green. A light breeze sprang up, hot, suffocating.
"Here she comes, boys! Heads up! Get ready to make a dive for the
cellar!"
All looked around to make sure that the door of the cyclone cellar--a
dugout ten feet from the house--was within easy reach. They moved a
bit closer.
Then it happened. From out of the greenish clouds tore a huge black
funnel, tip down, capped with a wreath of lightning. With a roar it
beat its way across the prairie. As it rushed along it took with it
all movable things. Lined with brushes, trees and dust, it seemed to
head straight for the ranch.
The five waited no longer. With a leap they reached the cyclone
cellar. The Kid was the last in, and just before he disappeared below
ground he looked again at the roaring funnel of wind. It was almost
upon them. In another moment, unless a near-miracle occurred, there
would be nothing left of the Shooting Star but a few timbers. The
ranch lay directly in the path.
Cyclones are freaks of nature. Even as the Kid watched, hoping that
the terrible funnel might be diverted, nature gave a demonstration of
one of its most startling feats. The funnel lifted.
Within three hundred yards of the ranch the tip raised above the
ground. As though a giant hand had pulled it up into the heavens, the
whirling, twisting cyclone merged into the blackness overhead. A
tremendous pressure beat against the Kid's body. The air about was
tingling with electricity. And there, directly above the Kid's head,
sailed the terrible funnel, Its tip held harmlessly aloft from contact
with the ground, thundering and screaming in disappointed rage. For
several seconds the "twister" remained suspended. Then two hundred
yards past the ranch it dipped to earth again, and went smashing along
on its mission of destruction and death.
The ranch was saved.
The Kid silently led the way out of the cellar. As the five stood once
more above ground, they looked about at the surroundings. Off in the
distance the cyclone could be seen whirling along, gradually growing
smaller and smaller as it departed. As they watched the terror
disappear, a prayer of thankfulness was in the heart of each. It was
indeed a near-miracle that had saved the ranch from complete
annihilation.
Bud was the first to speak. His utterance was not exactly fraught with
elegancy, but it expressed the feelings of all.
"Whew!" he said with a long, drawn-out sigh.
"And then some!" cried Dick. "What a show that was!"
"Boy!" Billee Dobb breathed. "I'm sure glad we got missed! When I saw
that ole baby comin', I says 'raise yore sights, buster, raise yore
sights! You got the wrong range!' An' blamed if she didn't raise,
too!"
A laugh started--the kind that relieves the soul after a tense and
dangerous moment. Bud broke out in a loud guffaw. Then the Kid let
loose--and for two minutes the air re-echoed with the shouts of glee of
the five ranchers. Nothing really to laugh at; this laughter was not
exactly in appreciation of Billee's remark. It was more in the nature
of a celebration.
"Whusch!" cried Bud weakly, when he could get his breath. "You crazy
coot! So you're the one that lifted the cyclone, hey? Well, you sure
did a good job of it!"
The ranchers made their way over to where the horses had been tied.
"O. K.!" Dick yelled as he came up. "They're all there. Not a hair on
'em touched. Bet they thought it was the end of the world, though!"
"Sure!" assented Nort.
"Now, now, old hoss!" Dick said soothingly as he stroked the nose of
his pony. "Scared, eh? Well, I don't blame you a bit. Look at this
one shake! Take it easy, boy--it's all over. Easy, there! Feel
better now? That's the stuff--walk around a bit. Do you good.
Steady! Steady!"
The horses were quickly calmed. Assured by the presence of their
masters that they were safe, they soon stopped quivering, and breathed
easier. A good horse trusts implicitly in his rider.
"I'll take 'em over nearer the house," declared the Kid. "They'll feel
better when they get movin'. By the way--wonder what happened to our
cook? Last time I saw him he was fryin' bacon. Take a run to the
kitchen, Dick, and look, will you?"
"Sure. Say, there's one shack down," Dick said as he pointed to the
wreck of a small building.
"Probably was a bunk house. We won't need one of those for a while,
anyway. Well, will you look at that roof!" The Kid indicated another
out-house. Its roof was turned directly around, so that the back was
where the front should be. Not a board on it was broken.
"Looks like a crazy-house down at Coney Island!" laughed Nort. "Dick,
I thought you were going to see about eats? I'm starved."
Dick walked toward the kitchen. Before he got there the aroma of
cooking bacon told the waiting cowboys that the Mexican was still on
the job.
"Must have the whole place full of food by this time," Bud commented.
"Think I'll take another look around, Kid. Billee, you want to come
along? I just want to make sure we haven't missed anything."
The two set off on a tour of inspection. It was growing dark now, and
it would soon be too late to repair that night anything that was
damaged.
"Guess we haven't lost much," Bud said to the veteran rancher. "We're
pretty lucky, eh, Billee?"
"Sure are! We'll just look around the corner of this building,
however, and then go back. I'm sort of hungry myself."
"Me too. Hope that Mex has--" Bud broke off suddenly. He peered hard
at the earth in the shadow of the shack. Then he walked swiftly over.
On the ground lay the body of a man, face down. Bud grasped him gently
by the arm and turned him over. On his forehead was a long cut, from
which blood was flowing. Bud looked sharply at his face, then started
back in surprise.
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he said slowly. "It's Delton!"