A SHOT FROM THE DARKNESS.
It was singular that Avon Burnet's most humiliating experience overtook
him on his first night in helping to watch his uncle's herd of cattle,
while following the Great Cattle Trail toward Kansas.
The starting point was so far north in Texas that the first day carried
them close to the Indian Nation, through whose territory they expected
to tramp for several days.
The night, as has been explained, was raw, with a fine, misty rain and a
cutting wind. The youth was seated on his fleet-footed and intelligent
Thunderbolt, with his back to the wind, after the fashion not only of
all cowboys, under such circumstances, but of the animals themselves,
who sometimes drift many miles before a driving storm.
He had his thick army blanket gathered about his body and shoulders,
and, though the night was dismal and his situation far from pleasant, it
still lacked the discomfort of many hours spent on the vast plains of
the Lone Star State.
The young man had held his position for less than an hour when the wind
changed, veering completely around, so that, instead of being in front
of the herd and edging gradually from it, he was thrown behind the
cattle, for they immediately faced about and began moving away from
him.
The situation of the young herdsman became a delicate one at once. His
proper place was in front, and to reach that point, he must ride around
the animals, and not among them. One of the many singular features of
herding and driving cattle is the wonderful sensitiveness shown at times
by them. While there is nothing extraordinary in the wild panic often
created by a thunderstorm, there are occasions when a whole herd is
stampeded by a cause too trifling to be understood.
Our experience leads us to agree with many veteran cowboys that the
cattle, when lying on the ground asleep, are sometimes troubled with bad
dreams which cause such fright on their part that their excitement
becomes contagious. Then again the electrical conditions produce a
morbid uneasiness among them as well as among men, and there seem to be
times when they are simply awaiting a pretext for dashing off in
uncontrollable panic.
Avon Burnet's fear was that if he rode directly after the cattle, the
sound of his mustang's hoofs would cause alarm, since it was too dark
for them to identify him. A stampede is the terror of the cowmen's life,
and no labor or trouble is too great to avert it. He, therefore, checked
Thunderbolt and waited a few minutes until the cattle were so far off
that he could wheel and gallop around their flank without frightening
them.
When he thought sufficient time had elapsed, he decided to wait a brief
while longer. His dread of a stampede was so strong that he was
unusually careful, but with no thought of shirking any duty, he
twitched the reins of his horse, spoke sharply, and without touch of
spur, was off like an arrow.
Although not an animal was visible, the rider had the contour of the
herd so vividly impressed on his mind that he felt no misgiving, when he
began edging his steed more to the left, and finally brought him to a
stand-still, as he believed, at the very front of the collection.
Indeed, his confidence would not have been greater had the sun been
shining.
But when he halted and listened he failed to hear anything of them.
"I must have ridden too far ahead," was his conclusion, as he started
his horse on a walk to meet them; "but they are surely near by."
Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and then he drew rein with an
exclamation of amazement, for his keen sense of hearing did not catch
the first sound of the cattle.
"I have lost the herd!" he muttered in dismay, and such was the fact.
His cheeks burned with chagrin at the consciousness of what at first
thought seems an impossible error on the part of man or youth with any
experience in attending cattle.
It was Avon's first mishap of the kind, and he felt as though he could
never face his comrades again, if they should discover the blunder,
which, after all, was not so striking, when the attendant circumstances
are borne in mind.
But if excuse could be accepted for his slip, there was none for
inaction after its discovery. It was not to be supposed that the animals
would set out to hunt him, nor that any knowledge could be gained of
them by idleness. There were other men on duty, and he shouted at the
top of his voice, in the hope of receiving a response, but there was
none.
Slipping from his saddle, he knelt down and placed his ear to the
ground. He fancied he detected faint sounds, such as are made by
multitudinous hoofs on the soft, wet earth, but the noises were so
slight that he could not identify the direction whence they came, and he
hastily climbed into the saddle again.
He realized that he was lost, and well aware that at such times it is
useless to puzzle one's brains about the point of the compass, he dashed
in the direction which seemed to be the right one. Of course, as in his
recent experience, it proved to be wrong, and he now spurred toward the
top of the ridge or hill, which it was easy to identify under the tread
of his mustang. He was confident that this elevation would yield the key
to the situation and he was not mistaken.
From the crest he observed the starlike glimmer of a lantern, and no
sight, except that of the herd itself, could have been more welcome. It
was the signal suspended every night from the front bow of the wagon, to
guide the men whenever they needed guidance.
Confident that someone would be found at that point who could give him
the important news he was seeking, Avon rode thither on a dead run. He
saw no one stirring as he galloped up. The cook, who had charge of the
wagon, was asleep, and the men off duty were slumbering soundly, while
the chance was theirs.
But young Burnet had scarcely checked his mustang, when the sound of
someone riding his horse equally fast reached his ear, and the next
instant Oscar Gleeson dashed beside him.
"Howdy, Baby, is that you?" he asked, peering at the young man dimly
seen in the scant yellow rays of the lantern.
"Yes, Ballyhoo," was the reply; "I'm in trouble."
"What is it?"
"I've lost the herd."
The Texan shook in his saddle with laughter.
"That's me, too; the first thing I knowed they was gone. I yelled for
you, but you couldn't have heard me, and, after cantering round awhile,
I struck for the wagon in quest of news."
Avon drew a sigh of relief, and with a smile:
"I'm glad you lost them, for the boys won't laugh at you, while they
would at me."
"I don't think there's anyone in that crowd that will laugh, for they
all had the same experience. I know Old Bronze and Short Stop have lost
a herd more than once."
"It won't do to stay here," remarked Avon, "for you know there is
another herd only a mile off, and if the two become mixed, it will be a
big job to cut out ours to-morrow."
"I shouldn't wonder," replied Gleeson, "if the cattle have gone back to
the bed-ground; at any rate we'll look for them there."
The return to the wagon enabled the couple to obtain their bearings, and
they knew the proper course to reach the spot, but the possibility of
the theory being wrong caused them to separate, so as to proceed thither
by routes which, while substantially parallel, were so far apart that
they were out of each other's sight and hearing, the latter being
chiefly due to the direction of the wind.
Avon spurred Thunderbolt into an easy canter, the soft grass making the
travel easy, though there was always the risk of his animal sinking one
or more of his hoofs into a hole, with the prospect of a broken leg for
the horse and a dislocated neck for his rider.
When it seemed to the latter that he had passed the intervening
distance, he drew his mustang to a walk, listening and peering through
the gloom with all the power at his command. There was no lighting of
the darkness, the wind still blew keenly, and the fine drizzling rain
continued.
No sight nor sound came to him, and, once more bringing his animal to a
halt, he dismounted and pressed his ear to the ground.
This time he caught a distinct noise: it was that made by the hoofs of a
horse. He was walking, and was so near that Thunderbolt pricked his ears
and uttered a faint whinny of salutation. Avon instantly rose to his
feet, and remounted.
Looking keenly into the wet darkness, he became aware that a horse was
standing motionless but a short distance off on his left. In the gloom
the outlines could be traced, but so dimly that he was uncertain whether
he had a rider or not. The steed held his head well up like Thunderbolt,
and appeared to be scrutinizing the youth and his animal with a
curiosity equal to theirs.
There was something so impressive in the sight of the statue-like
object, which emitted not the slightest sound, that young Burnet
hesitated whether to advance or to await its approach. The man could not
be Gleeson, and, whoever he was, it was evident that he regarded Avon
with inquiring suspicion.
But unwilling to maintain the trying situation, the latter touched the
neck of his mustang in a way which the animal recognized as a command to
move forward very slowly. He obeyed, and had advanced but a few short
steps when Avon to his astonishment perceived that the strange horse was
without a rider.
"I don't understand that," mused the mystified young man, stopping his
own animal, with several yards separating them; "he must have an owner,
and what can have become of him, and why is----"
At that instant he observed a suspicious movement, seemingly from the
other side of the steed. Before he could divine its nature, a rifle was
discharged almost in his face and he went off his mustang like a flash.