HORSEMEN IN THE STORM
Darkness found the four riders with a little over a third of their
journey completed. They selected a camp site near a running stream, and
after watering and feeding the horses and mules they built a fire for
the evening meal.
Silent, of his own accord, took charge of the cooking, which consisted
mainly in boiling the coffee, frying bacon, and heating a can of beans.
He had a way with him, however, and the food took on a certain flavor
that agreed eminently with the boys’ palates.
“Was a cook, once,” Silent explained laconically, when complimented on
the success of his meal. “In a cow camp, where the waddies either got
good food or the cook had somethin’ comin’ to him. Believe me, you
_gotta_ learn to cook in a place like that.”
“You sure sling a wicked fryin’ pan,” Nick muttered, his mouth well
filled with bacon sandwich. “Than which I have tasted no better. Snakes,
my back’s itchy!”
“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Teddy said casually. “There’s an ants’ nest
on the other side of the tree you’re leaning against, Nick.”
“An ants’ nest!” Nick leaped to his feet and shook himself violently.
“So that’s it! I thought I felt somethin’ crawlin’ around my lily white
skin. Why didn’t you tell me about it to-morrow morning, Teddy?”
Teddy grinned and went on with his eating. After a few violent moments
Nick seated himself again, but this time at a distance from the tree.
“Certainly is noisy,” Roy remarked. “Listen!”
“What for?” Nick leaned forward, straining his ears.
“Just wanted to see if I could find out which leg that grasshopper was
fiddling on. I can’t, though. Man, what a racket this silence makes!”
Those about him realized fully the sense of Roy’s remark. The silence
really did “make a racket!” It crowded in upon them, beating a weird
tune just over their heads. The night air pulsated with an intense
stillness. It was Nick who, with a single sentence, shattered the
mystery of it.
“I reckon,” he said calmly, “she’s goin’ to rain.”
Silent, squatting cross-legged a short distance from the fire, nodded in
agreement.
“Before twelve to-night,” he declared.
“Stars are still out,” Teddy objected. “Millions of ’em.”
Roy arose, walked away from the fire and into the darkness of the woods.
The camp had been pitched just on the edge of a small forest, through
which ran the brook.
“Yes,” he called back after a moment, “lightning in the west. Wind’s
blowing this way. We’ll get it, all right.”
“Then we might just as well tie them broncs up a little tighter,” Nick
advised. “What do you think, Silent--shall we move ’em toward the open,
or is it just as well to let ’em stay where they are?”
“Why move ’em?” Teddy broke in. “They’re all right there. But we can
fasten ’em up a little better. Yes, sir, it is going to rain!”
A vivid flash of lightning just then lit the heavens for a moment, and
those watching could see banks of clouds hastening to cover the stars.
But as yet the thunder could not be heard.
Nick and Roy went to see to the mules and horses, while Teddy and Silent
prepared the camp for the coming storm. The supplies were piled in one
heap and covered with tarpaulins. A few stakes were driven along the
edges of the stretched canvas, in case a strong wind should tear at the
covering. The tents had not been set up.
“And that’s fixed!” Teddy exclaimed, as he straightened. “Bet we don’t
get much sleep to-night.”
“It’ll be over by one, maybe,” Silent said. “Six hours’ sleep is plenty.
That is, unless you want to start before seven.”
“Seven’s all right,” Roy agreed. “We need some rest. Feel that hot wind?
It won’t be long now.”
A mutter of thunder rolled through the distant hills and the wind
stopped as though a fan had been shut off. The storm was approaching
rapidly.
“Well, I’m not goin’ to sit up an’ wait for it,” Nick declared. “I’m no
welcoming committee, not me! Here’s where I go bye-bye.”
He spread his blanket on the ground and prepared to roll himself up in
it. Just as he stretched out comfortably the first huge drops of rain
plunged to the earth.
“Nice, agreeable weather,” Nick grumbled, sitting up again. “Durin’ the
day it didn’t rain. Oh, no! Had to wait till everybody wants to go to
sleep. Just like a baby, keepin’ people awake all night. Where’s them
raincoats?”
“Ought to be under the edge of the tents,” Teddy replied. “I’ll look.”
“Here they are,” he said a few moments later. “Grab ’em.”
The raincoats, actually rain capes, were the most useful articles that
the prospective miners carried with them. Not only would they serve for
under-blankets, when the ground was wet, but, tied by each of the four
corners to stakes set in the ground, made admirable bath-tubs, since
they were of real rubber. The bottom would rest on the ground, of
course.
But it was for another purpose they were to be used now, and the purpose
for which they were originally intended--to keep out rain. The storm was
collecting its powers, ready to hurl them toward the little band of
adventurers gathered on the edge of the wood.
As the drops beat toward the earth, some of them struck the fire,
hissing loudly. In another moment the watery bombardment would be well
under way.
“Duck your heads,” Nick yelled, “‘cause here she comes!”
“I should say!” ejaculated Teddy.
With a roar, the tempest pounced upon them. Tightly as the ponchos were
wrapped about their bodies, some rain penetrated them, and the boys
huddled beneath the branches of a tree.
“Better come out of that!” Silent shouted. “Better to get a little wet
than to have one of those babies catch a bolt of lightning an’ fall on
yore neck!”
“Some sense to that,” Roy agreed. “Anyway, I’m about soaked now.”
He stood away from the tree and threw back his head, the rain beating
full in his face.
“Boy,” he gasped, “that’s wonderful! Some rain!”
“You just naturally crazy?” Teddy asked. “Wow! There goes a Big Bertha!”
A blinding flash was followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder.
The bolt had struck near by.
“Them mules tied tight?” Silent yelled.
“Yep. They can’t get away without pullin’ the trees with ’em!” Nick
shouted in answer. “Baby, listen at it!”
The wind swept through the woods fiercely, bending the branches toward
the ground. The lightning was continual, enabling the wayfarers to see,
a little distance from them, the animals crowding together for mutual
protection. The horses’ pride was forgotten in the stress of the moment,
and they fraternized with the mules.
“If Pop were here now, he’d call this a gentle shower, I suppose,” Teddy
remarked. “Thank goodness we brought these coats! We’d be drowned
without ’em. Even as it is, I’m no arid desert myself.”
The ground was gradually turning to a swamp beneath their feet, and Nick
groaned when he thought of his lost rest.
“Somethin’ terrible,” he muttered. “Me, I’m delicate! Need the best of
attention an’ regular sleep. My pop always told me--”
Roy, who was standing near him, seized him by the arm.
“Nick,” the boy said tensely, “do you hear something that has nothing to
do with the storm?”
The puncher listened.
“A crashin’ in the bushes,” he answered, in a puzzled tone. “Sounds like
a couple of horses threshin’ around. They ain’t our broncs, I know,
’cause they ain’t in that direction. Maybe--”
A flash of lightning illuminated the scene and Roy saw his brother
standing perfectly still, his hand to his side.
“You hear it too?” Roy called.
“Yes, I sure do. Some animal, that’s sure. The noise is getting nearer.”
The crashing in the bushes did sound closer. It was a noise distinct
from the storm, another sort altogether.
“Stick together,” Silent advised suddenly. “Something’s comin’.”
Their eyes glued to that spot of blackness before them, the boys waited,
hands on revolver butts. Across the sky ripped a jagged stroke of
lightning.
By its light the watchers saw a strange sight. About fifteen feet from
them, framed in a network of dripping trees, were two horsemen. Their
steeds were prancing wildly about, savage with fright. On one of the
broncos was a man who sagged in the saddle, a man whose hat was gone and
whose arm was bandaged rudely to his side. He held weakly to the reins
with his other hand. His face was pallid, expressionless.
“Greyhound,” the other man shouted, “buck up! I can’t manage yore pony!
This nag of mine--”
He stopped. Another flash of lightning had revealed the group in front
of him, four men, each with a gun in his hand.
“Greyhound,” the man yelled again, “turn yore bronc! You gotta turn him!
Watch out!”
A horse neighed shrilly, weirdly in that stormy darkness. The crack of a
whip on flesh. A frantic crashing in the brush.
“Greyhound,” came faintly, “you gotta--”
Then the men were gone. The noise of their departure faded out. The
storm resumed its rightful rule over the forest.
The four campers stood as though changed to stone. Was it real, this
they had just seen and heard? Could they have been dreaming?
Silent it was who broke the spell. His voice came harshly, through set
teeth.
“I stood there,” he gritted out, “I stood there an’ watched ’em! Me, I
watched ’em get away! I knew ’em! I knew ’em in a minute!”
He took a deep breath and fought for self-control. When next he spoke
his voice was toneless, dead.
“I reckon,” he said slowly, “the storm’s about over. It didn’t last
long. Nope, not long.”
He walked toward the canvas that sheltered their supplies. As he bent
down to examine the covering, Teddy heard him mutter:
“Not long! Not half long enough!”