The Whirlpool
Yes, there was still plenty to worry about, if one was in a worrying
mood. The Manley boys and their companions were faced with the
prospect of having their whole journey, with its dangers and
hardships, go for nothing, if the rustlers reached the cattle first.
There was a bare chance that Mr. Manley and his party had gotten to
the Whirlpool River range in time to prevent the theft; but even
Teddy admitted that this chance was a slim one. The overland route
was long and tedious, and could not be accomplished in less than
four days at the minimum.
“Guess we’d better resign ourselves to a long chase after those
rustlers,” Roy said regretfully. “That is if they go through with
their plan, and I don’t see why they shouldn’t. It sounded
fool-proof to me. Certainly if the cattle were gone when dad got
there, he would naturally suspect Jake Trummer of carrying out his
threat and driving them into the river. Suppose we hadn’t heard the
thieves talking that night? We would have gone on and probably
backed dad up in saying Trummer had drowned the cows. When you think
of it, we were pretty lucky after all.”
“But what good is our luck going to do us if we get there after the
cattle are stolen?” Teddy asked, as he shifted his “paddle” to get a
better grip on it.
“Seems to me I heered tell of a couple of fellers chasin’ some
rustlers an’ makin’ out pretty well,” Pop drawled. “Could it have
been you an’ Roy, Teddy?”
“Oh, that was different,” Teddy objected. “We got right on their
trail then and rounded them up before they had a chance to escape.
But now we won’t even know which way to start. They may take the
cattle any place.”
“Can’t take ’em in the river an’ get much good out of ’em,” Bug Eye
snickered. “They won’t drive ’em back toward X Bar X, ’cause you
said they knew about yore dad comin’ along that trail. And as I
remember it, there’s mountains back of Whirlpool River range that
’ud make travelin’ with a herd of dogies pretty risky--especially if
the dirt on them hills is tearin’ loose. So it looks like there’s
only one way they could go, Teddy--an’ that’s straight ahead.”
“That’s one way too many,” Pop remarked, bending over to see if the
patch he had put in place was still firm. It was, and he leaned back
again. “There’s a straight trail through to the Border, branchin’
left from the river,” he continued. “They’ll head for that, sure as
shootin’. Course I ain’t sayin’ they’ll make it, but they’ll try
to.”
“No such word as ‘ain’t,’” Bug Eye said absently. “But Pop, how far
is it to the Border? Good eight days’ ride, ain’t it--isn’t it?”
“All of that. But what’s eight days? I been in saddle longer than
that many a time. I remember, back in ’97--stop that splashin’, Bug
Eye! I had my bath!”
“Back in ’97?” Bug Eye grinned.
Pop became absorbed in the shore line and refused to answer. Bug Eye
winked, and, resting his head on his arm, started to snore loudly. A
sharp dig in the ribs from Pop convinced him of the error of his
ways, and he sat up, an innocent look on his face.
“Me, I’m tired!” he proclaimed. “When do we hit those rapids you
been talkin’ so much about, Pop? Last time I came over here they was
nothin’ but a few waves. I craves excitement, I do.”
“You’ll get it,” Pop said laconically. “They’ll be more than a few
waves this time. An’ that reminds me. Roy, you an’ Teddy been
workin’ long enough. What say you give me an’ Bug Eye a crack at it?
The rapids are just below here, an’ I want to do the steerin’ as we
hit ’em. I been over ’em many times, an’ I think I can put us
through all right.”
“Yo’re a great thinker,” Bug Eye murmured, as he changed places with
Teddy and received the board he was to use as a paddle. “Pop, what
am I supposed to do with this here barrel stave, or whatever it is?
Cheer you, or somethin’?”
“When I say left, you paddle on the left. When I say right, you
shift. That’s all.”
“An’ when you say ‘here she goes,’ I take my little bath,” Bug Eye
snickered. “All right, Pop. O.K.! Me an’ my flat board is ready.”
“Are ready,” grinned Pop. “Yuh forget yore plural nominative, Bug
Eye. Well, let’s see you work now!”
Roy, who had given up his place and paddle to Pop and was seated in
the bottom facing front, saw ahead of him that the banks of the
stream were coming together--closing in. It had been long since he
and Teddy had come over this route, and the landmarks were
unfamiliar. But he knew that just below the point where the shores
converged were the rapids.
The river seemed to take on new strength now. The soft purr was
developing into a roar, and Teddy, remembering the last time they
had heard that, hunched his shoulders. But this sound was different,
somehow, from the boiling of the stream after the storm. That had
been an unwholesome noise, as though the river had suddenly taken
upon itself an evil accomplishment, whereas the deep thunder that
came to Teddy’s ears from the rapids below was the voice of a giant
who is proud of his strength and who gives fair warning to any one
who contests his supremacy.
“Feel it pull?” Pop Burns asked excitedly, as they came nearer and
nearer the rapids. “Wait till we hit the worst part! You’ll know
yo’re in somethin’ then, let me tell yuh!”
Teddy and Roy were too absorbed in the spectacle to answer. Directly
before them a curtain of spray arose like a white cloud, pierced now
and then by a jet of water that leaped upward like a silver fish. A
cold haze hung over the boat--penetrating, knife-like--that sent the
blood tingling through the veins. All four were leaning forward now,
waiting, ready.
“Left!” Pop yelled, and Bug Eye shifted his paddle swiftly.
“Steady--steady--_Take it!_”
The canoe plunged into the maelstrom. About them the waters tumbled
and tossed in an agony of movement. The craft shot forward like an
arrow from a bow.
“Yay!” Teddy yelled, his eyes alight with a fierce joy. “Let’s go!”
Roy was too fascinated to exclaim. He sat perfectly still, gripping
the sides of the boat, his head thrown back, his lips smiling.
_This_ was life!
A deep whirlpool lay directly in their path. Teddy saw that it was
spinning with incredible rapidity, and thought that if they hit it
destruction was certain. He turned to Pop to sound a warning.
But the veteran had seen it. Not an inch did he swerve from his
course. For a moment the boat hung on the edge, poised for a dive.
Then it leaped.
Straight into the heart of that silver-lined, foaming vortex it
shot.
“Right” Pop yelled, and Bug Eye shifted again.
There was a space of time, seemingly interminable, when the boat
appeared to stand still while the waters whirled beneath it. Then a
quick lurch--and the whirlpool was left behind.
Stunned by the suddenness of it, Teddy jerked his head around. The
whirlpool was far in the rear. They had been in and out in less than
a second.
“Pop!” the boy called above the roaring, “what happened?”
“Nothin’ much,” Pop chuckled. “We just took it at the right time,
that’s all. It tossed us out. Like it?”
“Certainly did!” Teddy cried enthusiastically. “Hit ’em again, Pop!”
They came now to a place where the stream undulated like a huge
white snake. There were hills and valleys of water; smooth, shining
water. It seemed that the rocks over which the river was flowing
were just beneath the surface--that they must surely crush them to
pieces. Teddy saw that Pop’s face lost none of its calmness, so he
settled himself once more with an attempt at serenity which deceived
no one. Just what in thunder _was_ keeping them from all going to
the bottom?
The craft was tossing like a ship on the ocean. First the bow would
almost bury itself in a smother of foam, then it would lift until it
seemed that it must turn over backward. Bug Eye wrapped his legs
firmly about the seat.
“Roller coaster!” he shouted, and went down again, nearly out of
sight.
“My Fishmobile--” he began when once more he rose straight in the
air, but at that moment they came to an especially deep pool and the
words froze on his lips. Teddy watched him with amusement and saw
that when he was level again Bug Eye had a wild look about him.
“I’ll stick to crazy steers after this!” the cowboy yelled. “They
stay on the ground, anyway!”
But the worst of it was over. The water resumed a more normal flow
and the banks widened. They still shot downstream at an alarming
rate, but the canoe kept on a fairly level keel.
Bug Eye drew a breath of relief and rested his paddle across the
gunwales.
“I’m cured,” he declared solemnly. “I wanted to be a sailor when I
was young. But never again! That was some circus! What made it like
that, Pop? I’ve been over here before. But snakes, that was a
millpond compared to to-day. What happened?”
“The storm,” Pop grinned. “I kinda thought it would be pretty bad.
But we’re through now. And Jake Trummer’s place is just ahead. One
more bend and we’re there.”
Eagerly the boys waited until they should come in sight of Whirlpool
River Ranch. The end of their trip was at hand. Would they find
their cattle grazing peacefully, waiting to be driven home? Would
their father be there yet? They sat tense, leaning forward.
They rounded the bend. A broad vista of land lay before them, green,
rolling range land. Back of the grazing fields mountains rose
sublimely, fleecy clouds capping their summits. The late afternoon
sun turned the scene into a picture of pastoral beauty.
But on the range was not a hair, hide, or hoof of a single
shorthorn.