Within an Ace
Work about the ranch went steadily on, and there were few interruptions
to the daily course of events. But one day a small black cloud appeared
on the western horizon, and grew larger with amazing rapidity. Soon it
had so increased in size that it obscured the sun, and a gloomy twilight
settled over the earth.
Bert and Dick and Tom were in the neighborhood of the branding pen,
watching the men throw the cattle and brand them with Mr. Melton's
mark. At first they did not notice the gathering storm, but as the sun
grew dimmer and dimmer they looked up, as did many of the cowboys, and
saw the ominous-looking cloud. The cattlemen gave it but one glance, and
then quit their tasks and began to securely rope and tie the animals
inside the corral and make everything trim and shipshape.
The boys were somewhat surprised to see such precautions being taken
against what they thought was merely going to be a thunder shower, but
they had gained experience enough to know that when anything was done on
the ranch there was generally some good reason back of it, and they had
also learned not to ask direct questions.
They wished to know the cause of the evident anxiety on the part of the
ranchmen, however, so Bert set about getting the information in the
manner they had learned by experience was best.
"Looks as though there were going to be something doing pretty soon,
doesn't there?" he remarked to "Chip," one of the most experienced
members of the working force.
"Somethin' doin'?" exclaimed Chip. "Waal, I reckon they will be somethin'
doin', and mighty soon, too. We're goin' to beat it for the bunkhouse
some soon, and you'd better come along with us. Chances are you won't
have time to make the ranchhouse. When a norther once gets started,
things happens pretty fast, so ef you don't want to get soaked an' run a
good chance o' gettin' blown away you'd better come along with us, all
three o' you."
A "norther!" The boys had heard tales of the fury of these storms, and
now they would have an opportunity to judge for themselves the truth of
these stories. They had always believed them exaggerated, but the haste
and anxiety of the ranchmen told them that something out of the ordinary
was expected.
The air was close and oppressive, and not a breath of wind rustled the
dry prairie grass. The boys mopped their foreheads, and hurried along
with the men. By this time the entire sky was overspread with a funeral
pall, and it was so dark that they could hardly see. When they were
within a few hundred yards of the bunkhouse they heard a weird whining
noise far off over the prairie, and suddenly a little puff of cool air
struck against their heated faces.
At this moment Sandy, followed by several cowboys, dashed up, and they
all leaped from their horses. "We'll jest have time to make the
bunkhouse," he said; "the wind will reach us in another minute. Lively's
the word, boys."
He and the others with him who had horses dashed behind the bunkhouse,
and tethered the frightened animals where they would be sheltered in some
measure from the wind and rain. They dashed around the end of the
building and ran through the door, preceded by the party with which the
boys had started from the corral. The door of the bunkhouse was slammed
shut just in the nick of time.
With a shriek and a roar the norther was upon them. The wind blew with
terrific violence, and rain dashed in great sheets against the windows
and drummed on the roof with a noise that made it difficult for the men
to hear the sound of each other's voices. The building quivered and
trembled as the fierce gusts shook it in their grasp, and it seemed as
though it must be torn away from its foundations. But it had been stoutly
built with an eye to resisting just such storms, and held firm. The air
was filled with grass, bits of planking, and other wreckage that it had
picked up in its furious course. The boys gazed out the windows,
wondering mightily at the tremendous force of the gale, which closely
approached that of a cyclone. They had been in storms at sea, and a
gale was no new thing to them, but this surpassed anything of the kind
they had ever seen.
"I'm mighty glad we weren't caught out in this," shouted Bert into the
ears of Tom and Dick. "I never thought it _could_ rain so."
And his astonishment was shared by his friends. "Rain" hardly seemed an
adequate word to describe the torrents that poured down. The sky seemed
fairly to open, and the rain descended in solid sheets. The ranchmen took
it all calmly, however, and loafed lazily in their bunks, smoking pipes
and gazing contemplatively up at the roof. Weather conditions they had
learned to take as a matter of course, as all men do who earn a living in
the open, and they accepted philosophically what Dame Nature meted out to
them.
The fury of the storm continued unabated for perhaps half an hour, and
then began to slacken perceptibly. The wind still tore at the rude
building and the rain continued to fall heavily, but with less of their
former violence. The rattle of the rain on the roof grew less deafening,
and it became possible to make one's self heard without being under the
necessity of shouting.
"I reckon the worst of it's over," remarked Sandy, after a time; "but
this here rain ain't goin' to stop fer an hour or more, and I vote that
to while away the ted-ium of this here interval some one o' you
shorthorns tells us a yarn. You're all good liars, and yuh ought to be
able to make somethin' up if yuh can't rec-lect nothin' thet really
happened."
"Ef it comes t' that," exclaimed Chip in a resentful tone, "what's the
matter with you goin' ahead and turnin' the trick. There ain't nobody
here that knows better'n you how to keep the recordin' angel workin'
double shifts."
There was a laugh at this, but when it subsided Sandy had his answer
ready: "It ain't a question o' lyin' with me," he explained. "I've been
in so many scrapes that only a man of extraordinary intelligence and
iron nerve like myself could 'a' pulled out of, that there ain't no call
for me to make up nothin'."
"That stuff sounds all right as long as you're sayin' it," said Chip
skeptically; "but jest to prove it, supposin' you take the bit in your
teeth an' spiel off one o' these here adventures o' yourn."
"Well, mebbe I will," replied Sandy thoughtfully, "mebbe I will." He
paused reflectively a few moments while he filled and lighted his pipe.
The rain still beat steadily against the roof and windows of the
bunkhouse, but the wind now came only in fitful gusts.
Everybody, with the exception of the three boys, was smoking, and a blue
fog drifted and eddied through the atmosphere. At last Sandy appeared to
have collected his thoughts, and after a few vigorous puffs to get his
pipe drawing well began his story.
"What I'm goin' to tell yuh about," he said, "happened before I became a
cattle puncher. Then I was workin' in the lumber business up in the
Michigan woods fer Dodd & Robertson, one o' the biggest concerns in the
line. We'd had a pretty successful winter, the boys were all in good
humor, an' the daily cuts averaged pretty high. But the weather was cold,
mighty cold, I can tell yuh. We'd swing an axe until we had to take
off our coats, and we'd be wet with sweat, but if we stopped work fer as
much as a minute we had to skip back into our coats again, or our clothes
would freeze on us as we stood there. Take it from me, boys, it was cold
with a capital C.
"But all this ain't gettin' me any further along with my yarn. As I say,
the winter was a bitter one, and the wild things, panthers an' wolves an'
sech, were pretty hard put to it to rastle enough grub to keep them
alive. Natchally, this made 'em plumb ferocious, and they used to come
right into the clearin' around the camp, hopin', I suppose, to pick up
somethin'. The cook had to watch out to keep the supply house closed up
tight, or there'd 'a' been a famine in camp, sure.
"Waal, one day the foreman sent me out to look over a section of timber
land some distance from the camp, an' I set off right after breakfast.
I took my axe along, o' course; no lumberman ever thinks o' goin'
anywhere without his axe, any more than you boys figure on travelin'
around without packin' a six-gun with yuh. I took enough grub with me to
last the day out, fer, as I said, it was a longish distance, an' I didn't
reckon t' get back much before dark. It was the middle o' winter, an' the
days up there in the woods were mighty short.
"The snow was pretty deep, but I traveled on snowshoes, an' didn't have
much trouble gettin' along. I made tol'able time, an' made a rough survey
o' the timber before I unpacked my grub. After eatin' I started back to
camp, congratulatin' myself that I'd reach it with time an' to spare. But
as some poetry sharp I once heard of says, 'Man proposes, but the
Almighty disposes,' or words that mean the same thing. I'd gotten pretty
well along on the return journey when suddenly I heard somethin' snap,
and before I had time to even jump aside a big dead tree slams down,
knockin' me over an' catchin' my left leg under it.
"Waal, I saw stars fer a few minutes, but as soon as my head cleared off
a mite I tried to wriggle myself loose. But the tree couldn't seem to see
it that way. It had me good an' tight, and appar'ntly meant to enjoy my
company fer a spell. At first, though, I couldn't seem to understand that
I was really caught hard an' fast, an' it took a little time fer the idea
t' sink in. When it did filter through to me I pretty near went crazy, I
guess. I remember turnin' and twistin' until my leg felt like it was
goin' to break clean off, an' I almost wished it would. But after a while
I pulled myself together a little, an' tried to think o' some way out. As
soon as I lay still even fer a minute the cold began to gnaw through me,
and I knew I'd have t' do whatever I was goin' to do mighty quick, or I'd
freeze to death.
"An' that warn't the only danger, neither. It was beginnin' to get dark,
and suddenly, 'way off to the north, I heard the yell of a painter (or a
panther, as you lads might call it)," turning toward the three comrades,
who were listening intently.
"Waal, when I heard that yell somethin' that seemed colder even than the
icy air clutched at my heart. O' course, I didn't have any weapon with
me, except as you might call my axe one. I looked around fer it, and saw
that it had fallen about three feet farther than I could stretch, and lay
half buried in the snow, only the haft stickin' out.
"I made up my mind that I'd have to have that axe, anyway, an' I set to
work gettin' it. After thinkin' a few minutes I took off a long leather
belt I was wearin' and made a loop by runnin' it through the buckle. From
where I was layin' it was an almighty hard job to throw that loop around
the axe handle, an' I reckon I must 'a' tried twenty times before I
finally made to throw it over. Then I started pullin' easy-like on the
belt to tighten the loop, so it would hold on the slippery handle. The
belt was a leetle stiff, though, an' the loop wouldn't tighten very
close. When I tried to pull in on it, the axe stuck in the crust that
covered the softer snow underneath, an' the belt slipped off the handle.
"Waal, boys, I've had my share o' disappointments in this world, I
reckon, but I think that was the hardest o' them all to bear. Howsomever,
I knew there was nothin' to do but to keep at it until I got that axe, so
after a lot o' false throws I got the loop over the handle agin. This
time it held better, and at last the head o' the axe broke through the
snow crust an' then it was easy t' pull it up to me. When I felt the haft
in my hand a little hope come back to me, an' I figgered there might be a
chance t' cut myself loose. But I was lyin' in sech a way that I couldn't
rightly get at the tree noway, an' finally I had to give up tryin'.
"I've hearn more'n once of wild animals caught in traps gnawin' their own
feet off fer the sake o' goin' free, an' the thought come to me of tryin'
to chop myself loose in the same way. I think the only thing that kept me
from doin' it was the thought that I'd rather be dead than be a cripple,
anyway. An' o' course, I knew that arter a while, when I didn't show up
at camp, the boys would suspicion thet somethin' was wrong an' make up
a searchin' party to look for me. There's somethin'in all of us, I
reckon, that keeps right on hopin' up to the very minute that we cash in
an' leaves this here vale o' tears.
"But the worst was yet to come, as the story-book fellers say. It had
begun t' get real dark, when I thinks I hears a rustlin' sound in the
dead underbrush. I grabbed my axe, an' made up my mind to die fightin',
anyway. I knew sooner or later some hungry critter would come along an'
find me laid out there nice an' invitin', without a chance o' protectin'
myself, and I figgered that arter that the end wouldn't be a long ways
off.
"In a few minutes I heard the rustlin' sound again, only this time
nearer. I twisted as far around as I could, and then I saw what was
makin' the noise. Not thirty feet from me one o' the biggest painters I
ever laid eyes on was creepin' stealthily along, sizin' me up with his
glistenin' green eyes as he went.
"When he saw thet I had spotted him he stopped, crouchin' down clost t'
the ground, ready to fight or run, accordin' t' the way things looked
to him. Chances are he was half minded t' run, anyway, fer all the wild
critters is mighty shy of a man, an' as a rule will go the long way
around to keep out o' his way. But this brute was hungry, as I could tell
by his lean flanks, an' he didn't scare as easy as usual. I yelled at
him, but he didn't move, jest sat there an' looked at me with them
unwinkin' eyes, tryin' his best to figger out the way things stood. Every
onct in a while his eyes would leave mine, an' he'd glance casual-like
around him, but they always came back.
"I knew it wouldn't be long before he got next t' the fact that I was
down an' out, an' I was right. I've hearn people say thet animals don't
reason, but they're a long ways from hittin' the bull's-eye. It warn't
long afore thet painter had everythin' settled in his own mind, an' had
decided thet I was helpless fer some reason an' would be easy pickin's
fer him. He got up on all fours, and began to growl a little an' switch
his tail. I knew then that it wouldn't be long before he came fer me, an'
I took a fresh grip on the axe. I knew I didn't have a chance, but I
figgered on puttin' my mark on the critter before he did fer me, anyway.
"He crept closer an' closer, growlin' and spittin' away fer all the world
like a big tomcat gettin' ready t' fight. I makes a swing at him with the
axe, an' he jumps back a little, and fer a few seconds jest crouches an'
glares at me, his eyes like two big, gleamin' emeralds. Then he gathers
himself fer a spring, an' I gets ready fer what I knows is comin'.
"Suddenly he shot through the air, an' as he comes down I slams out at
him with the axe. The critter dodges even while he's in the air, but he
couldn't squirm aside altogether, an' the sharp axe caught him a gash
that laid his shoulder open. He gives a great yell, and then all I can
remember is his landin' on me like a cyclone, fetchin' me a blow on the
side of the head with his paw that it's a wonder didn't do fer me then
an' there. After that everythin' went dark, an' the next I knew I was
lyin' in my bunk at camp, with my leg done up in splints, my left arm,
that had been chawed by the painter, done up in bandages, an' my head so
bound up that there wasn't much left out but my nose.
"The boys told me that when I didn't show up at supper-time they began to
get anxious, and when I hadn't showed up an hour later they got up a
searchin' party and set out to look fer me in the direction they knew I'd
be comin' from. They'd gone quite a ways when they heard the yell the
painter gave when I slashed him with the axe, and rushed over in the
direction o' the sound. They got there jest in the nick o' time, too, I
reckon. Two minutes more an' I'd 'a' been done fer, sure."
Sandy ceased speaking, and everybody drew a long breath. "Did they kill
the panther?" inquired Bert.
"No, worse luck," replied Sandy; "it was dark, and when they got close
the critter made off before they had a chance at a shot. But, say!" he
exclaimed, "the storm's over an' the sun is out, an' here we are loafin'
in here yet. Vamoose, boys! scatter!" and they all piled out into a fresh
and made-over world. Everything was washed clean by the torrential
rainfall, and, strange to say, comparatively little damage had been done
by the terrific wind. The ranchmen set about repairing whatever had been
destroyed, and the three comrades walked toward the ranchhouse,
discussing Sandy's tale as they went.