A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS.
Oliver Bright was as much surprised as Cottle to hear Ford’s words.
Colonel Mendix had stopped at the place only the night before! They
were indeed close upon his heels.
Without replying, the guide turned an inquiring look towards the boy.
Oliver at once spoke up.
“You say Colonel Guerotaz was here last night?”
“Yes,” replied Ford. “Know the man?”
“I know of him. Was he alone?”
“No, no; had two new hands with him.”
“Did they have any baggage? I mean heavy stuff?”
“Not as I know of. Are you off to see him?” went on the keeper of the
store curiously.
“We are,” replied Oliver. “What time did the colonel leave?”
“At sunrise this morning. Oh, he’s a spry fellow, I can tell you.”
Oliver said no more, but walked back to Mr. Whyland and Gus.
“Colonel Mendix is just a full day’s journey ahead of us,” he said. “I
wonder if it is likely that we catch up with him before we reach the
mine.”
“I don’t believe that would be advisable,” was Mr. Whyland’s reply.
“Nor I,” responded Gus. “I don’t want to face the man until we reach
the mine.”
“We will tell Cottle of this. He can easily keep a lookout ahead.”
As soon as the mules were cared for, the little party entered the
store. It was a place scarcely twenty feet square, lit up in the
daytime by three dirty windows and at night by a couple of smoky lamps.
The air was redolent of the aroma of various groceries, mixed with the
smell of tobacco and liquor. Oliver remained about five minutes, and
then went out and sat down on the little porch to catch his breath.
Behind the store there was one room, used by Ford as a dwelling. In
this apartment all hands were invited to spend the night with the
proprietor; but all, with the exception of Cottle, declined with
thanks, Oliver saying that now they were in the mountains, they would
prefer to sleep in the open.
“I couldn’t sleep in that place if I was paid for it,” he told Gus,
when the three were alone.
“Nor I,” replied the stout youth. “Crickety! the smell was strong
enough to walk! I don’t see how Ford stands it.”
“It is a matter of habit,” laughed Mr. Whyland. “Just as the families
of a wild tribe all live in one wretched hut. With so much pure air
around, one would think they would want just that and nothing else, but
the opposite is the fact.”
However, not wishing to offend Ford, they had him furnish them with
supper and breakfast, and before leaving, Mr. Whyland purchased from
him a pound bag of tobacco for a dollar, which he afterwards presented
to Cottle for use in his stump of a pipe.
Half an hour after sunrise on the following morning they bade the
storekeeper good-by and were off. Each one was in the best of spirits,
though Oliver was still sore from his frightful tumble.
The little stretch of plain before them was soon crossed. At its
termination they came to a narrow defile, between a small mountain on
one side, and some rugged rocks and bushes on the other.
“Were it not for these natural roadways the journey from one place to
another would be next to impossible,” said Mr. Whyland as they rode
along.
“I believe you,” said Oliver. “However would we be able to climb this
mountain, small as it is? No mule could ascend such a steep place.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” put in Cottle; “it is wonderful what a
mule can do when put to it. But such an undertaking breaks them all up.”
At noon they found themselves still in the pass. Gus stated that he was
growing tremendously hungry, but Cottle said they had better wait for
dinner.
“We want to get out of this pass as soon as possible,” he added; “in a
couple of hours it won’t be a safe place to be in.”
“Why, what do you mean?” exclaimed Oliver.
“I see some bad looking clouds over there,” replied the guide,
pointing with his finger. “We are going to have a storm some time this
afternoon.”
“A storm!” cried Gus.
“Yes; and I won’t be surprised if it is a heavy one.”
“Then why not seek shelter somewhere here?” went on Gus. “I am sure we
can keep dryer here than out in the open.”
“Not much!” responded the guide. “If that storm is heavy this place
will be a mighty dangerous one. Come, we must hurry along.”
“And why dangerous?” asked Oliver as they urged the mules forward.
“On account of the rocks that roll down the mountain, and the wind. At
times it is something fearful. We must lose no time. I was in a storm
down in the Gedney Pass one day in September two years ago, and I will
never forget it. Hark!”
As Cottle concluded, a low rumble far to the north-west was heard, a
rumble that seemed to rise and fall like the billows of the ocean.
“It’s coming!” cried the guide. “Forward as fast as you can!”
His directions were followed instantly. The mules seemed to understand
the situation and did their best.
On and on they went, the sky above them each instant getting blacker
and the roll of thunder coming nearer. Then a puff of heavy wind swept
past them.
“It is coming!” shouted the guide. “Hurry up, all of you.” And away he
went faster than ever.
Oliver and Gus were close behind. Mr. Whyland brought up the rear.
Another rush of wind followed, and then it seemed to grow black as
night.
“We are going to catch it and no mistake!” exclaimed Oliver. “I wish we
were out in the open once more.”
“Half a mile farther will fetch it,” cried Cottle.
He could say no more, for at that instant a flash of lightning fairly
blinded them. Then came a deafening roar of thunder that lasted fully
five minutes, followed by a perfect deluge of rain.
Oliver pulled his hat far down over his head and eyes, and buttoned
his coat up tightly. But it was no use; in one minute he was soaked to
the skin.
“Don’t stop!” called out Cottle during a brief lull. “We must get out
of here if we wish to save our lives!”
Nobody replied; but every one understood the importance of his words.
Oliver’s mule was now getting winded, and the boy had great trouble
in making him keep up the pace. He patted the animal and spoke
encouragingly to him, but all to no purpose. In a moment more they had
dropped behind.
“What is the trouble?” asked Mr. Whyland, slacking his pace.
“The mule won’t go. He is winded, I guess.”
“He must go. Keep him at it.”
Another clap of thunder followed. The mule pranced about wildly. All
the others had gone ahead, and Oliver was left alone to deal with the
animal.
“Whoa!” he called out. “Whoa, Dobbins!”
But Dobbins would not stop his prancing. Another clap of thunder, and a
mass of rocks came crashing down close to the spot where the mule stood.
In a twinkling his hind feet rose in the air, and his rider was
unseated and thrown to the ground. Then Dobbins tore away, leaving
Oliver to his fate.