A STARTLING AWAKENING.
THAT night, after a bountiful meal, George Shelton quietly said to his
brother:
“You remember, Victor, that you and I left home on the morning of the
turkey shoot, telling father that we didn’t wish to stay and win the
prize?”
“Of course, but nobody believed us.”
“I don’t suppose anyone did, but if you had gone into that foot-race
against Deerfoot and Ralph Genther, neither would have had a show. I
never dreamed how fast you can run till I saw that antelope after you.”
“See here now, George, what’s the use of talking forever about that? You
would have done just as I did if you saw a wild animal coming down on
you like a whirlwind, and just after you had wounded him.”
“I suppose I should, but I couldn’t have made the time _you_ did.”
“I wonder whether Deerfoot will come up with us to-night,” remarked
Victor, anxious to change the subject of conversation, and peering in
the gloom to the southward.
“No,” replied the grinning Mul-tal-la; “you will see nothing of our
brother for some days. He will not let Whirlwind use his leg till he
knows he can’t hurt it, and that won’t be for some time yet.”
The camp had been made on the slope of the ridge, over which they had
passed once or twice, and at the base of which meandered a small stream
that finally made its way into one of the tributaries of the Platte, and
so finally reached the Gulf of Mexico. Beyond this water the land sloped
upward again. Thus it will be seen that our friends were near the bottom
of a valley, covered with succulent grass, and showing here and there
growths of willows and a species of alfalfa, whose bark sometimes serves
animals for food, but owing to the small size of the growth itself the
wood is comparatively worthless.
It was the turn of Victor to mount guard for the first half of the
night. The horses had become so accustomed to the routine that, after
packs, saddles and bridles were removed, they could be trusted to crop
the herbage until ready to lie down for the night. Zigzag had gotten
into the habit of nibbling much longer than his companions. Perhaps his
teeth were not so good, but the sentinels had often observed him moving
here and there long after his companions were asleep. George Shelton
named his natural stubbornness as the cause, though the charge was
hardly fair.
The night had progressed far enough for George to wrap himself in his
blanket, for the night was quite cold, and lie down with his feet to the
fire. The Blackfoot was not yet ready to sleep. Instead, he sat with his
blanket around his shoulders and seemed to sink into a reverie. He
remained motionless for a long time, gazing absently into the fire and
saying nothing to anyone. At last Victor gently reminded him that he was
at liberty to sleep while the boy guarded the camp.
Instead of lying down the Indian rose to his feet and stood for some
minutes looking off to the northward toward the nearest stretch of
mountains or the opposite side of the valley. It was as if he had noted
something in that direction which interested him. He turned to the boy:
“Let not my brother fear; Mul-tal-la will not be away long.”
And with this remark he walked down the slope, soon passing from sight
in the gloom.
“That’s a queer piece of business,” reflected Victor. “I wonder what’s
the matter; maybe he’s seen some of his people over yonder and has gone
to call upon them.”
However, there was no cause for misgiving, and the youth gave the
Blackfoot no further thought, knowing he would return when he thought
proper. Meanwhile the brothers need not fear disturbance from man or
animal.
The weather was still clear, though the travelers had observed a heavy
black cloud over the mountains, just before sunset, which threatened a
downpour of rain, but the black mass was moving northward above the
peaks and soon disappeared. The moon was near the end of the first
quarter, and shed enough light for one to see quite clearly for a
distance of fifty yards more or less. This illumination was steady, for
not a cloud drifted across its face to produce the shifting shadows and
alternations of light and obscurity which often mystified the man or boy
on guard.
It had struck Victor more than once that whoever acted as sentinel
was—for most of the time—wasting the hours that might as well have been
spent in rest. Not once had anyone been in danger of attack from wild
animals, nor since crossing the Mississippi had any Indians molested
them. Moreover, he was sure that in the event of anything of the kind
the horses would give timely warning. But Deerfoot had made the order,
before leaving the young State of Ohio, that never was the camp to be
left unguarded, and while he was with them the rule had not been
disobeyed. It was useless to protest to the Shawanoe, who had a way of
enforcing his views which no one dared oppose. No argument, therefore,
had been offered, and that sense of honor which was ingrained with the
twins made each more careful of carrying out the views of the “guide,
counsellor and friend” during his absence than when he was with them.
Consequently, Victor Shelton, resting his gun over his shoulder, began
slowly pacing to and fro, after the manner of a veteran sentinel. His
beat was twenty steps or so, and one termination brought him near where
the horses had already lain down for the night. Rather it should be said
that only three of them had done so, for Zigzag, acting out his queer
disposition, was seen moving slowly here and there as he munched the
lush grass. He was likely to keep it up for an hour or two, and the boy
gave no heed to him.
A monotonous hour had worn away when Victor’s attention was drawn to the
wakeful horse. He was standing with head raised, bits of grass dripping
from his jaws, ears pricked, and staring toward the other side of the
valley, as if he had discovered something in that direction.
“I guess Mul-tal-la is coming back,” was the thought of the lad, “and
Zigzag hasn’t noticed that he is absent.”
But no Blackfoot came into view in the dim light, and the animal’s
restlessness, instead of passing, became more marked. He threw his head
still higher, looked more keenly and emitted a faint neigh.
“I wonder what’s the matter with him,” said Victor, turning aside from
his beat and walking out to the animal, whom he patted and tried to
soothe. To his astonishment he found the horse was in a tremor, as if
scared by something he either saw or heard.
Victor turned his gaze in the same direction, but could discover nothing
to explain the alarm of the brute. Then he listened.
From the direction of the mountains he heard a peculiar sound. It was a
dull but steadily increasing roar, such as you have noticed at night
when a railway train was first detected miles distant. The boy supposed
it was a gale of wind, similar to what he had felt more than once since
crossing the Mississippi, and, indeed, while still on the other side of
that river.
But no sooner had he formed this conclusion than he was sensible of a
difference in the sound from that which had come to mind. It was more
intense and its volume was growing faster than he had ever observed
before.
“I wish Mul-tal-la was here,” was the thought of Victor, who began to
feel uncomfortable; “he would know the meaning of that, which is more
than _I_ know.”
He still believed the uproar was caused by wind, though of a more
violent nature than any yet noted by him. A whirlwind, a hurricane, or
what in these times is called a cyclone, may have been born among the
mountains, and would soon be careering over the prairies with terrific
might. If such proved the fact, Victor could think of nothing to do;
for, though he and his brother fled, they would be as liable to run into
the vortex or centre of disturbance as to be caught where they were.
His alarm, however, led him to hurry to the side of George and awaken
him. The latter was on his feet in an instant, startled by the
terrifying noise, which had aroused the other horses, who also arose and
showed signs of fear. Before the two could exchange more than a few
words the darkness was pierced by the voice of the Blackfoot from some
point on the other side of the valley.
“Make haste, brothers! Flee to the highest land you can reach!”
“That means a cloudburst!” exclaimed George. “That is what the black
cloud did. The valley will be a rushing torrent in a few minutes!”
The words were yet in his mouth when the roar of the brook a little way
off was heard. The forerunner of the flood was sweeping down the valley
and would be quickly followed by a Niagara of water.
The boys ran to the horses and began with desperate haste to make them
ready for flight. The goods on hand were too valuable to be lost.
Saddles and bridles were hurriedly adjusted in a slipshod fashion, and
then both bent their energies to replacing the packs upon Zigzag, who
won the gratitude of the brothers by acting as if he understood the
danger and was eager to give all the help he could. He stood motionless
while with nervous, trembling hands the two fixed the bulky bundles in
position.
“_It’s here!_” called out Victor, who felt the water about his ankles
and rapidly rising. “It won’t do to wait another minute!”
The horses were headed up the slope and all broke into a gallop, for the
instinct of their species often surpasses the reason of man in such
crises of peril. The lads ran alongside, slapping their haunches and
urging them to greater speed.
It looked for a few minutes as if, despite their haste, they would be
overwhelmed, for within two or three minutes after starting they were
wading through the rushing volume that reached to their knees. Victor
stumbled, and George, with a cry, caught his arm, believing he was about
to be swept off his feet, but he recovered himself and plunged up the
slope faster than before.
Nothing could have saved the boys and animals but the steady ascent
which they made. A river was sweeping down the valley like that which
wiped out Johnstown in the Conemaugh Valley nearly a century later. Few
comprehend the appalling power of a great volume of water, which in the
disaster referred to tossed locomotives about as if they were so many
corks.
The moonlight showed the muddy torrent carrying limbs, trees and even
rocks, tumbling and rolling together in one fearful swirl down the
valley. The stream was already more than a hundred feet wide, and
gathered width and volume with terrifying rapidity.
In a few minutes—though it seemed ten times as long—boys and horses
paused on the crest of the ridge. They were now fifty feet higher than
their camp, and the torrent steadily pursued them until within a dozen
paces of where they stood. If it climbed that interval nothing could
save them. They watched the rushing river for a time in silence.
“Is it coming any higher?” asked Victor in an awed voice.
“I think it is creeping up, but not so fast as at first.”
“Won’t it be safer to keep on running?”
“No; we shall have to go down into the lowland beyond, and if the water
comes over this ridge we shall be caught.”
“And if it does that we shall be caught _here_.”
“It’s likely to pass round at some point above, and then it will be all
up with us—_it has done so!_” added the startled George.
As he spoke he pointed down the other side of the slope which they had
climbed. He was right; the muddy current had forked above and was
flowing down on both sides of them. Boys and horses were standing on an
elongated island which might be overflowed at any moment.
The destructive cloudbursts that sometimes break with cyclonic
suddenness in the West are as short-lived as they are violent. It is
impossible that it should be otherwise, for they consist simply of a
sudden precipitation or fall of an enormous mass of water from the
skies, which naturally hunts with the utmost swiftness for the lowest
level. That found, the frightful flurry is speedily over.
It was with unspeakable relief that George and Victor Shelton finally
saw that the torrent had ceased to climb the slope. A few minutes later
they uttered a prayer of thankfulness when they perceived that the
volume was diminishing and the margin of the torrent was steadily
retreating down the incline again. All danger for the time was over.
“How is it that Mul-tal-la is on the other side of the valley?” asked
George.
“I don’t know. He left camp soon after you lay down, telling me he
wouldn’t be gone long. He must have had some business or pleasure to
look after. I thought maybe he had gone to make a call on some of his
people. It was lucky for us that he saw what was coming and gave us
warning in time.”
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