THE INJURED MAN
Frank and Andy Racer did not need a second warning to urge their steeds
to top speed. One look at the black and menacing cloud, now they knew
what it portended, was enough for the lads. With Billy in the lead,
they sped over the prairie, seeking to gain the shelter of the ranch
houses ere the storm broke.
"She's a'coming!" yelled Billy, as he snapped his quirt to urge his
horse to do even better. "She's going to be a hummer, too! It's a good
thing we saw it in time."
"What'll it do?" asked Andy, galloping his animal alongside that of his
Western chum.
"Tear things loose generally, if it hits anything," was the grim answer.
"Won't it be dangerous for the buildings at your home?" asked Frank,
who had ranged up on the other side of his friend.
"It sure will--if it hits 'em. But that's the way with a cyclone. You
never can tell just where it's aiming. It may pass off and not come
near us at all. But from the looks of that cloud it seems to be headed
right this way."
Billy turned in his saddle and looked back. The dark, low,
funnel-shaped mass of vapor was undoubtedly nearer, and was coming
on rapidly. The air had been quiet--too quiet in fact--and now the
unnatural stillness was broken by a low, moaning sound, as if from some
animal in pain. The horses started as they heard it, and quickened
their pace.
"Steady, old boy, steady!" called Billy, soothingly, to his beast. "It
isn't going to hurt you, old fellow."
The horse quieted down somewhat, but it was easy to see that he was
alarmed. And his fear was conveyed to the horses ridden by Andy and
Frank, for they cavorted about, and acted more like skittish young
colts than staid cow ponies.
"Keep a firm rein," advised Billy. "Don't let 'em bolt with you or you
might lose your seat, and it would be a hard job to catch 'em again
with this storm coming up behind us. They'd bolt for the stable at top
speed. Hold 'em in!"
"That's what," agreed Frank. It was rather curious to note how Billy
took command of matters now, whereas, back East, and at the school, it
had been the Racer boys who were in the van in every thing. But here
they recognized that Billy knew more about what was best to be done
than they did.
"Is it getting any nearer?" asked Frank, as he noted Billy looking over
his shoulder again.
"I should say it was. This is going to be one of the worst storms we've
had here. And we've had some ripping ones, too. Hark to that wind!"
The moaning sound had now risen to a scream, as if the wounded animal
was wild with rage, and about to break loose.
"What does it do, blow straight ahead and lift things off the ground?"
asked Andy.
"No, it goes more in a circle," answered the ranch lad. "That's how it
gets its name-cyclone--cycle--circle, you know."
"Of course, I might have remembered," agreed Andy.
"But what does it do?" asked Frank, who had never seen the effects of
one of these curious wind storms.
"Oh, it pulls things up by the roots when it gets a chance," answered
Billy. "It just seems to twist everything off--a sort of corkscrew
motion you know. I've seen whole houses twisted right around and set
down some distance from where they stood, just facing the other way.
That's the reason we build everything low, hoping the wind will pass
over it."
"Does it rain?" inquired Andy.
"Sometimes. I think we're going to get some now. See if you can get any
more speed out of those nags. We're almost at the ranch and we may make
it in time."
Frank and Andy called to their ponies, and, as Buffalo was able to make
a little better time under Billy's urging, the other two animals forced
themselves to do likewise, for they did not want to be left behind.
"Won't it be more dangerous in a building than out in the open?" asked
Frank, when they had ridden on about a mile, and had a glimpse of the
ranch in the distance. "If the house is going to be lifted up and
twisted around----"
"Oh, we can go in the cyclone cellar," said Billy, almost yelling to
be heard above the noise of the wind. "We've got a sort of underground
cave where we sometimes take refuge if it gets blowing too bad. A
cyclone has no effect on that."
The wind, which had been blowing in fitful puffs, now swooped down on
the three lads with terrific force. They could feel the tremendous
pressure of it, and in a few minutes they saw little clouds of dust
caught up from the dry fields and whirled about in funnel-shaped masses.
"Whirlwinds!" yelled Andy.
"Little cyclones," shouted Billy. "It's coming here all right!"
The roaring and screaming of the wind now became louder, and, looking
back, the lads saw the black cloud fairly rushing down on them.
"Use your quirts!" called Billy, swinging the short whip about his
head, and bringing it down lightly on his horse. "Make 'em know they've
got to make better time."
The horses, up to now, had not felt the lash, but even in the stress of
speed the lads were merciful, and only swung the lashes lightly. But it
was enough, along with the howling of the wind, and the curious hue of
the atmosphere, for it had turned yellow, from the effect of so much
dust in the air.
Leaping forward, the frightened horses carried their riders in advance
of the storm. There came a few drops of rain, and, just as the gale
burst in all its fury, the three raced into the ranch yard.
"Quick!" yelled Archie, who was on the lookout for them. "Into the
cellar. It's going to be a screamer! I'll look after the horses!"
The steeds were trembling with fright as Archie fairly shoved them into
the low stable, built of heavy logs capable of withstanding a fierce
blow.
"Come on!" yelled Billy, as he led the way, through darkness almost as
black as night now. The yellow glow had faded and the ink-hued cloud
seemed to envelope everything. The rain was coming down in torrents,
and Frank and Andy noticed that the wind had a circular motion, marking
the true cyclone.
"Here we are!" yelled the ranch boy, and grabbing hold of Frank and
Andy, he pushed them through the entrance to what looked like an old
fashioned root-cellar, or dugout. It was a shelter partly under ground
and partly raised, with sod and earth built over a wooden roof.
"My, boys! We were getting worried about you!" exclaimed a voice, and
Frank, clearing his eyes from the dust that had blown into them, saw by
a light of a lantern in the cyclone cellar that Mr. Thornton, his wife,
and a number of the hands of the ranch had gathered in the place.
"Oh, we're all right," answered Billy confidently.
"This terrible storm!" cried Mrs. Thornton. "We were so worried about
you, Billy! Where were you when it came up?"
"On our way home. But say, Uncle Richfield, I've got great news for
you."
Before he could tell what it was there came a terrific crash, that
sounded above the roar of the cyclone. Involuntarily everyone crouched
low, though there could be no danger to them in the underground place.
"Oh, what was that?" cried Mrs. Thornton, clinging to her husband.
"I don't know," he answered, steadily. "But I hope it wasn't the house.
See if you can get a glimpse of it, Matt."
The foreman tried to open the door of the cellar, but something had
evidently blown against it. Tug as he would, it did not budge.
The gale was now howling so that ordinary talk in the improvised cave
could scarcely be heard, and Sing Lee, the Celestial cook, was howling
his Chinese prayers at the top of his voice.
"Be quiet!" ordered Mr. Thornton, for the shrill tones of the Chinese
were getting on Mrs. Thornton's nerves. "This will blow over in a
minute more."
Hardly had he spoken, when there came a perceptible lull in the storm.
The howling of the wind died down as does the whine of an electric fan
when the current is shut off. In about two minutes there could be heard
only the patter of the rain on the ground, and, a little later, this
ceased. In all, the actual blow had not lasted five minutes.
"Well, see if you can get that door open now, Matt," ordered the
ranchman. Once more the foreman tried, and with the help of one of the
hands he managed to push the portal partly open.
"There's a beam wedged against it," he reported, but by shoving out his
foot he managed to kick it away, and the door swung wide.
A flood of light streamed in, making the lantern grow pale and sickly.
The dark cloud had passed, and the sun was out. It was a most wonderful
transformation.
"Are--are there any of our buildings standing?" gasped Mrs. Thornton.
"I'm almost afraid to look."
"Sure, they're all right," answered her husband, with a reassuring
laugh. "I guess we only got the edge of the storm at that. The roof's
off one of the pony sheds, but that's all. It was part of that which
blew against the door. All hands out to take stock of damage," he
ordered.
They hurried from the cyclone cellar. The storm had passed, doing
comparatively little damage, and, as Mr. Thornton had said, probably
one edge only had hit the ranch.
"Whew! That was a hot one!" cried Andy, as he looked off in the
distance and saw the funnel-shaped cloud tearing away to do more damage
elsewhere.
"I should say so," agreed Frank. Billy said nothing. He was looking at
a dark object huddled on the ground, not far from the entrance to the
cyclone cellar. The ranch boy advanced toward it.
"What's that?" called his uncle sharply, as he, too, saw it. "A dog?"
"No, it's--why, it's a man!" cried Billy, as he stooped over the
figure. "It's a man, and he's hurt!"
Then, as Frank and Andy ran to join their chum, they uttered cries of
astonishment.
"Look! Look who it is!" said Frank.
"It isn't he! It can't be possible!" added Andy.
"But it is, by all that's wonderful!" ejaculated Billy. "How in the
world did he get here, and how was he hurt?"
"Something hit him on the head, evidently," said Frank.
"Who is it? What's the matter?" cried Mr. Thornton, running up. "Who is
it, boys?"
"Sam Shackmiller, the man who tried to get that paper away from me!"
answered Billy.