ON THE RIVER
For a moment the girl sat paralysed with terror as her brain grasped the
full gravity of her position. The wind had risen, and blowing up river,
kicked up waves that struck the boat with sledgehammer force and broke
over the gunwales. Overhead the thunder roared incessantly, while about
her the thick, black dark burst momentarily into vivid blazes of light
that revealed the long slash of the driving rain, and the heaving bosom
of the river, with its tossing burden of uprooted trees--revealed, also
her trembling horse, and the form of the unconscious Texan lying with
face awash in the bottom of the boat. His hat, floating from side to
side as the craft rocked in the waves, brushed the horse's heels, and he
lashed out viciously, his iron-shod hoofs striking the side of the boat
with a force that threatened to tear the planking loose.
The incident galvanized her into action. If those hoofs had struck the
Texan? And if he were not already dead, suppose he should drown in the
filthy water in the bottom of the boat? Carefully, she worked the
frightened animal to the farther end of the boat, and swiftly made her
way to the limp form of the cowboy. She realized suddenly that she was
numb with cold. Her hat, too, floated in the bottom of the boat, and her
rain-soaked hair clung in wet straggling wisps to her neck and face.
Stooping over the injured man she twisted her fingers into the collar of
his shirt and succeeded in raising his face clear of the water. Blood
oozed from a long cut on his forehead at the roots of his hair, and on
top of his head she noticed a welt the size of a door knob. With much
effort she finally succeeded in raising him to a sitting posture and
propping him into a corner of the boat, where she held him with her body
close against his while she bathed his wound and wiped his eyes and lips
with her rain-soaked handkerchief. Opening her shirt, the girl succeeded
in tearing a strip from her undergarments with which she proceeded to
bandage the wound. This proved to be no small undertaking, and it was
only after repeated failures that she finally succeeded in affixing the
bandage smoothly and firmly in place. The storm continued with unabated
fury and, shivering and drenched to the skin, she huddled miserably in
the bottom of the boat against the unconscious form of the man.
Added to the physical discomfort came torturing thoughts of their
plight. Each moment carried her farther and farther from Timber
City--from Win. When the lightning flashed she caught glimpses of the
shore, but always it appeared the same distance away. The boat was
holding to the middle of the stream. She knew they must have drifted
miles. "What would Win say?" over and over the same question repeated
itself in her brain, and step by step, she reviewed the events of the
night. "I did the right thing--I know I did!" she muttered, "they would
have killed him!" And immediately she burst into tears.
Inaction became unbearable, and shifting the body of the Texan so that
his head would remain clear of the ever deepening wash in the bottom of
the boat, she seized the pole and worked frantically. But after a few
moments she realized the futility of her puny efforts to deviate the
heavy craft a hair's breadth from its course. The tree-root that had
knocked the Texan unconscious had descended upon the boat, and remained
locked over the gunwale, holding the trunk with its high-flung tangle of
roots and branches close alongside, the whole structure moving as one
mass.
She discarded the pole and tried to arouse the unconscious man, shaking
and pounding him vigorously. After a time his head moved slightly and
redoubling her efforts, she soon had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes
open slowly. His hand raised to his bandaged head, and dropped
listlessly to his side. Placing her lips close to his ear to make
herself heard above the roar of the storm, she begged and implored him
to rouse himself. He evidently understood, for he moved his arms and
legs and shifted his body into a more comfortable position.
"I--don't--remember--" the words came in a low, faltering voice,
"what--happened."
"When you cut the cable that root hit you on the head," she explained,
pointing to the root-stub that held the boat firmly against the trunk of
the tree.
He nodded his understanding, and in the illumination of the almost
continuous flashes of lightning stared at the root, as if trying to
collect his scattered wits. The boat jerked unsteadily, hesitated,
jerked again and the branches and uplifted roots of the tree swayed and
thrashed wildly. He struggled to his knees, and holding to the girl's
arm raised himself unsteadily to his feet where he stood swaying
uncertainly, his eyes fixed on the thrashing branches. His vitality
returned with a rush. His eyes narrowed as he pointed out the danger,
and his voice rang strong above the storm: "Where's the ax?"
Stooping, the girl recovered it from the water at her feet. Instantly,
it was seized from her hand, and staggering to the root, the Texan
chopped at it with blows that increased in vigour with each successive
swing. A few moments sufficed to sever it, and springing to one side,
the man drew the girl to the bottom of the boat, while above them the
branches thrashed and tore at the gunwales. A moment later the craft
floated free, and placing his lips to her ear, the Texan explained:
"They stick down as far as they do up, an' when we pass over a shallow
place they drag along the bottom. If we'd struck a snag that would have
held the tree, it would have been 'good-night' for us. That root would
have ripped down through the bottom, and all there'd be'n left of us is
two strings of bubbles. We're lucky."
Alice shuddered. "An' now," continued the cowboy, "we've got to bail out
this old tub. What with the water that rolled in over the edge, and
what's rained in, we'll have a boatful before long."
"Why, there's barrels of it!" cried the girl. "And we haven't anything
to bail with!"
The Texan nodded: "There's barrels of it all right. I saw a fellow empty
a barrel with a thimble, once--on a bet. It took him a considerable
spell, but he did it. My boots hold considerable more'n a thimble, an'
we can each take one an' go to it."
"But, wouldn't it be better to try and reach shore?"
"Reach shore?" With a sweep of his arm the man indicated the surface of
the turgid flood. Following the gesture, Alice realized the utter
futility of any attempt to influence the course of the clumsy craft. The
wind had risen to a gale, but the full fury of the electrical storm had
passed. Still continuous, the roar of the thunder had diminished to a
low rumbling roll, and the lightning flashed pale, like ghost lightning,
its wan luminescence foreshortening the range of vision to include only
the nearer reaches of wild lashing water upon whose surface heaved and
tossed the trunks and branches of trees over which the whitecapped
waves broke with sodden hiss. The shore line with its fringe of timber
had merged into the outer dark--an all-enveloping, heavy darkness that
seemed in itself a _thing_--a thing of infinite horror whose evil touch
was momentarily dispelled by the paling flashes of light. "Oh, where are
we? Where are we going?" moaned the girl.
"Down river, somewhere," answered the Texan, with an attempt at
cheerfulness. The man was industriously bailing with a boot. He tossed
its mate to the girl. "Bail," he urged, "it gives you somethin' to think
about, an' it's good exercise. I was about froze till I got to heavin'
out this water. We ain't so bad, now. We're bound to get shoved ashore
at some bend, or the wind'll blow us ashore. Looks to me as if she was
widenin' out. Must of overflowed some flat." Mechanically she took the
boot and, following the example of the Texan, began to bail out. "Rain's
quit, an' this wind'll dry us out when we get the boat emptied so we
don't have to sit in the water. My shirt's most dry already."
"The wind has changed!" cried the girl. "It's blowing crosswise of the
river, now."
"More likely we've rounded a bend," opined the Texan. "I don't know the
river below Claggett."
"If we're blown ashore, now, it will be the wrong shore."
"Most any old shore'd look good to me. I ain't what you might call
aquatic by nature--I ain't even amphibious." Alice laughed and the
sound was music to the Texan's ears. "That's right, laugh," he hastened
to say, and the girl noticed that the cheerfulness was not forced, "I've
never heard you laugh much owin' to the fact that our acquaintance has
been what you might call tribulations to an extent that has be'n plumb
discouragin' to jocosity. But, what was so funny?"
"Oh, nothing. Only one would hardly expect a cowboy, adrift in the
middle of a swollen river to be drawing distinctions between words."
"Bailin' water out of a boat with a boot don't overtax the mental
capacity of even a cowboy to absolute paralysis."
"You're certainly the most astonishing cowboy I've ever known."
"You ain't known many----"
"If I'd known a thousand--" The sentence was never finished. The boat
came to a sudden stop. Both occupants were thrown violently to the
bottom where they floundered helplessly in their efforts to regain their
feet. "What happened?" asked the girl, as she struggled to her knees,
holding fast to the gunwale. "Oh, maybe we're ashore!" Both glanced
about them as a distant flash of lightning threw its pale radiance over
the surface of the flood. On every side was water--water, and the
tossing branches of floating trees. The Texan was quieting the terrified
horse that crouched at the farther end of the boat, threatening
momentarily to become a very real menace by plunging and lashing out
blindly in the darkness.
"Struck a rock, I reckon," said the cowboy. "This cayuse'll be all right
in a minute, an' I'll try to shove her off. Must be we've headed along
some new channel. There hadn't ought to be rocks in the main river."
The clumsy craft shifted position with an ugly grating sound as the
current sucked and gurgled about it, and the whitecapped waves pounded
its sides and broke in white foam over the gunwales. The Texan took
soundings with the pole. "Deep water on three sides," he announced, "an'
about a foot down to solid rock on the other. Maybe I can climb out an'
shove her off."
"No! No!" cried the girl, in a sudden panic of fear. "You can't swim,
and suppose something should happen and the boat moved off before you
could climb into it? You'd be washed off the rock in a minute, and I--I
couldn't stand it alone!"
"The way she's millin' around on the rock, I'm afraid she'll rip her
bottom out. She's leakin' already. There's more water in here now, than
when we started to bail."
"Most of it splashed in over the side--see, when the waves break."
"Maybe," assented the Texan, carelessly, but in the darkness he stooped
and with his fingers located a crack where the planking had been forced
apart, through which the river water gushed copiously. Without a word he
stepped to the girl's saddle and took down the rope. "We've got to get
off here," he insisted, "where'd we be if some big tree like the one
that knocked me cold would drift down on us?" As he talked he passed the
loop of the rope over his head and made it fast about his shoulders, and
allowing ten or twelve feet of slack, knotted it securely to a ring in
the end of the boat. "There, now I can get onto the rock an' by using
the pole for a crow-bar, I can pry us off, then if I get left I'll just
trail along on this rope until I can pull myself in."
The man's first effort resulted only in breaking a couple of feet from
the end of his lever, but finally, by waiting to heave on his bar at the
moment a wave pounded the side, he had the satisfaction of seeing the
craft move slowly, inch by inch toward the deeper water. A moment later
the man thanked his stars that he had thought of the rope, for without
warning the boat lifted on a huge wave and slipped from the rock where
it was instantly seized by the current and whirled down stream with a
force that jerked him from his feet. Taking a deep breath, he clutched
the line, and easily pulled himself to the boat, where the girl assisted
him over the side.
They were entirely at the mercy of the river, now, for in the suddenness
of their escape from the rock, the Texan had been unable to save the
pole. Groping in the water for his boot he began to bail earnestly, and
as Alice attempted to locate the other boot her hand came in contact
with the inrushing stream of water. "Oh, it _is_ leaking!" she cried in
dismay. "I can feel it pouring through the bottom!"
"Yes, I found the leak back there on the rock. If we both bail for all
we're worth maybe we can keep her afloat."
Alice found the other boot and for what seemed interminable hours the
two bailed in silence. But despite their efforts, the water gained.
Nearly half full, the boat floated lower and more sluggishly. Waves
broke over the side with greater frequency, adding their bit to the
stream that flowed in through the bottom. At length, the girl dropped
her boot with a sigh that was half a sob: "I can't lift another
bootful," she murmured; "my shoulders and arms ache so--and I
feel--faint."
"Just you prop yourself up in the corner an' rest a while," advised the
Texan, with forced cheerfulness, "I can handle it all right, now."
Wearily, the girl obeyed. At the bow and stern of the square-ended boat,
the bottom curved upward so that the water was not more than six or
eight inches deep where she sank heavily against the rough planking,
with an arm thrown over the gunwale. Her eyes closed, and despite the
extreme discomfort of her position, utter weariness claimed her, and she
sank into that borderland of oblivion that is neither restful sleep, nor
impressionable wakefulness.
It may have been minutes later, or hours, that the voice of the Texan
brought her jerkily erect. Vaguely she realized that she could see him
dimly, and that his arm seemed to be pointing at something. With a sense
of great physical effort, she managed to follow the direction of the
pointing arm, and then he was speaking again: "It's breakin' daylight!
An' we're close to shore!" Alice nodded indifferently. It seemed,
somehow, a trivial thing. She was conscious of a sense of annoyance that
he should have rudely aroused her to tell her that it was breaking
daylight, and that they were close to shore. Her eyes closed slowly, and
her head sank onto the arm that lay numb and uncomfortable along the
gunwale.
The Texan was on his feet, eagerly scanning his surroundings that grew
momentarily more distinct in the rapidly increasing light. The farther
shore showed dimly and the man emitted a low whistle of surprise. "Must
be a good four or five miles wide," he muttered, as his eyes took in the
broad expanse of water that rolled between. He saw at a glance that he
was well out of the main channel, for all about him were tiny islands
formed by the summits of low buttes and ridges while here and there the
green tops of willows protruded above the surface of the water swaying
crazily in the current.
"Some flood!" he muttered, and turned his attention to the nearer bank.
The boat floated sluggishly not more than fifty or sixty feet from the
steep slope that rose to a considerable height. "Driftin' plumb along
the edge of the bench," he opined, "if I only had the pole." He untied
the rope by which he had dragged himself aboard from the rock, and
coiled it slowly, measuring the distance with his eye. "Too short by
twenty feet," he concluded, "an' nothin' to tie to if I was near
enough." He glanced downward with concern. The boat was settling lower
and lower. The gunwales were scarcely a foot above the water. "She'll be
divin' out from under us directly," he muttered. "I wonder how deep it
is?" Hanging the coiled rope on the horn of the saddle he slipped over
the edge, but although he let down to the full reach of his arms his
feet did not touch bottom and he drew himself aboard again. The boat was
moving very slowly, drifting lazily across a bit of slack water that had
backed into the mouth of a wide coulee. Fifty yards away, at the head of
the little bay formed by the backwater, the Texan saw a bit of level,
grass-covered beach. Glancing helplessly at his rope, he noticed that
the horse was gazing hungrily at the grass, and in an instant, the man
sprang into action. Catching up his boots he secured them to the saddle
by means of a dangling pack string, and hastily uncoiling the rope he
slipped the noose over the horn of the saddle. The other end he knotted
and springing to the girl's side shook her roughly. "Wake up! Wake up!
In a minute it'll be too late!" Half lifting her to her feet he hastily
explained his plan, as he talked he tore the brilliant scarf from his
neck and tied it firmly about his own wrist and hers. Making her take
firm hold about his neck he seized the knotted rope with one hand, while
with the other he reached for the ax and brought the handle down with a
crash against the horse's flank. The sudden blow caused the frightened
animal to leap clean over the low gunwale. He went completely out of
sight, but a moment later his head appeared, and snorting, and thrashing
about, he struck out for shore. When the slack was out of the line the
Texan threw his arm about the girl's waist, and together they leaped
over the side in the wake of the swimming horse. Even with the small
amount of slack that remained, the jerk when the line pulled taut all
but loosened the Texan's hold. Each moment seemed an eternity, as the
weight of both hung upon the Texan's one-handed grip. "Hold for all
you're worth!" he gasped, and he felt her arms tighten about him,
relinquished the hold on her waist and with a mighty effort gripped the
rope with the hand thus freed. Even with two hands it was no mean task
to maintain his hold, for the current slight as it was, swung them down
so the pull was directly against it. The Texan felt the girl's grasp on
his neck weaken. He shouted a word of encouragement, but it fell on deaf
ears, her hands slipped over his shoulders, and at the same instant the
man felt the strain of her weight on his arm as the scarf seemed to cut
into the flesh. The Texan felt himself growing numb. He seemed to be
slipping--slipping--from some great height--slipping slowly down a long,
soft incline. In vain he struggled to check the slow easy descent. He
was slipping faster, now--fairly shooting toward the bottom. Somehow he
didn't seem to care. There were rocks at the bottom--this he knew--but
the knowledge did not worry him. Time enough to worry about that when he
struck--but this smooth, easy slide was pleasant. Crash! There was a
blinding flash of light. Fountains of stars played before his eyes like
fireworks on the Fourth of July. An agonizing pain shot through his
body--and then--oblivion.
A buckskin horse, with two water-soaked boots lashing his flanks and
trailing a lariat rope from the horn of his saddle, dashed madly up a
coulee. The pack string broke and the terrifying thing that lashed him
on, fell to the ground with a thud. The run became a trot, and the trot
a walk. When the coulee widened into a grassy plain, he warily circled
the rope that dragged from the saddle, and deciding it was harmless,
fell eagerly to eating the soggy buffalo grass that carpeted the ground.
While back at the mouth of the coulee lay two unconscious forms, their
bodies partly awash in the lapping waves of the rising river.