Читать книгу The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista - Altsheler Joseph Alexander - Страница 4

The wagons drew up in a great square on the openplain, but just at the edge of the timber, and themen, breathless, perspiring, but victorious, droppedfrom their horses. The Comanches still galloped to andfro and shouted in the distance, but they kept well out ofrifle shot, and Phil, although it was his first battle, knewthat they would not attack again, at least not for thepresent. They had been driven out of an extremely strongposition, ground of their own choosing, and nothingremained to them but to retire.

The boy stood by the side of his horse, holding thebridle in one hand and the rifle in the other. He wasstill trembling from the excitement of forcing the fordand the battle among the trees, but the reddish mistbefore his eyes was gradually clearing away. He let thebridle rein drop, and put his hand to his face. It cameaway damp and sticky. He looked at it in an incuriousway to see if he were wounded, but it was only dust andthe smoke of burned gunpowder, kneaded together byperspiration. Then he felt cautiously of his body. Nobullet or arrow had entered.

"Unhurt, Phil?" boomed out the voice of Bill Breakstonebeside him. "So am I, and so is Middleton.Arenberg got a scratch, but he's forgotten it already.But, I trow, Sir Philip of the River, that was indeed acombat while it lasted!

"You can't say anything against that poem, Phil; it'sshort and to the point. It's true that the Comanches arenot entirely gone, but they might as well be. Let 'emshout out there in the plain as much as they choose, they're going to keep out of rifle range. And Icongratulate you, Phil, on the way you bore yourself throughyour first 'baptism of fire.'"

"I thank you, Bill," said Phil, "but the fact is, Idon't know just how I bore myself. It's been more like adream than anything else."

"That's likely to happen to a man the first time underfire, and the second time, too, but here we are on theright side of the river and ready for a breathing spell."

Phil threw the reins over his horse's neck, knowingthat the latter would not leave the camp, and set to work, helping to put everything in order, ready for fight or rest, whichever the Comanches chose to make it. The wagonswere already in a hollow square, and the wounded, at leasttwenty in number, laid comfortably in the wagons, werereceiving the rude but effective treatment of the border.Seven or eight had been killed, and three or four bodieshad been lost in the current of the stream. They werenow digging graves for the others. Little was known ofthe slain. They were wandering, restless spirits, andthey may or may not have been buried under their ownnames. They had fallen in an unknown land beside anunknown river, but their comrades gave all due honor asthey put them beneath the earth. Middleton said a fewwords over the body of each, while others stood by withtheir hats off. Then they smoothed out the soil abovethem as completely as possible, in order that their gravesmight be lost. They took this precaution lest theComanches come after they had gone, take up the bodies, and mutilate them.

When the solemn task was done, the men turned awayto other duties. They were not discouraged; on thecontrary, their spirits were sanguine. The gloom of theburial was quickly dispelled, and these wild spirits, theirfighting blood fully up, were more than half willing forthe Comanches to give them a new battle. It was suchas these, really loving adventure and danger more thanprofit, who steadily pushed forward the southwesternfrontier in the face of obstacles seemingly insuperable.

Their position at the edge of the wood, with the strongfortification of the wagons, was excellent, and Middletonand Woodfall, after a short consultation, decided toremain there until morning, for the sake of the woundedmen and for rest for all. Phil worked in the timber, gathering up fallen fuel for fires, which were built in thecenter of the hollow square, and he found the work arelief. Such a familiar task steadied his nerves. Graduallythe little pulses ceased to beat so hard, and his headgrew cool. When enough dead wood had been broughtin, he took another look at the western horizon.Comanches could still be seen there, but they no longergalloped about and shouted. A half dozen sat motionless ontheir ponies, apparently looking at the white camp, theirfigures, horse and rider, outlined in black tracery againstthe blood-red western sun. Phil had a feeling that, although beaten at the ford, they were not beaten for goodand all, and that the spirit of Black Panther, far frombeing crushed, would be influenced to new passions andnew attack. But, as he looked, the Comanche horsemenseemed to ride directly into the low sun and disappear.The hard work that had kept him up now over, he feltlimp, and sank down near one of the fires.

"Here, Phil, drink this," said Bill Breakstone, handinghim a cup of hot coffee. "It has been a pretty hardday on the nerves, and you need a stimulant."

Phil swallowed it all, almost at a draught-never hadcoffee tasted better-and his strength came back rapidly.Breakstone, also, drank a cup and sat down beside theboy.

"Here comes Arenberg," he said in a low tone to Phil."That German was a very demon to-day. He got rightinto the front of the charge, and after his rifle was emptyhe clubbed it and brought down one of the Comanches."

Phil looked up. Arenberg's face was still set in astern, pitiless mask, but when his eyes caught the boy'she relaxed.

"It iss a good day well spent," he said, throwinghimself down by the side of the two. "We never couldhave forced the ford if we had not made that flankmovement. Harm wass meant by both sides and harm wassdone. But it iss over now. How does the young HerrPhilip feel?"

"Pretty good now," replied Phil, "but I've had myups and downs, I can tell you. A little while ago I feltas if there were no backbone in me at all."

Food was now cooked, and, after eating, the threerelapsed into silence. Presently Middleton, also, joinedthem, and told them that very thorough preparations hadbeen made to guard against a surprise. Sentinels onhorseback were already far out on the plain, riding awatchful round which would be continued all through thenight.

"It is easy to guard against surprise on that side,"said Middleton, "but snipers may creep down the riverbank in the timber. We must keep our best watchthere."

"I'll go on duty," said Philip promptly.

"Not yet," replied Middleton. "You may beneeded late in the night, in which case we'll call on you, but our most experienced borderers don't think theComanches will come back."

"You can never trust them," said Arenberg earnestly.

"We don't mean to," said Middleton. "Now, Phil,I'd advise you to wrap yourself in your blanket and go tosleep. On a campaign it's always advisable to sleepwhen you're off duty, because you never know when youwill get the chance again."

It seemed to Phil that it was impossible to sleep, afterso much excitement and danger, but he knew thatMiddleton was speaking wise words, and he resolved to try.There were yet hours of daylight, but, putting his blanketbeneath him, he lay before one of the fires with his armunder his head and closed his eyes. He would openthem now and then to see the yellow flames, the figures ofthe men moving back and forth, and the circle of wagonsbeyond. He could not make himself feel sleepy, but heknew that his nerves were relaxing. Physically he felt asoothing languor, and with it came a mental satisfaction.He had helped to win his first battle, and, like the olderand seasoned men around him, the victory encouragedhim to bid further defiance to the Comanches or anythingelse that threatened.

These reflections were so grateful that he foundhimself able to keep his eyes shut longer. It was notso much of an effort to pull the eyelids down, and when,at intervals steadily growing more distant, he opened hiseyes, it was to find the fires and figures of the menbecoming dim, while the circling line of the wagonsbeyond was quite lost. At last the eyelids stayed downof their own accord, and he floated away into a sleep thatwas deep, sweet, and refreshing.

Others in the camp slept, also, some in the wagons andsome on the ground, with saddles for pillows. Thosewhose duty it was to watch paid no attention to them, but beat up the brush incessantly, and kept up theirendless circles on the plains. The somber clouds that hadobscured the morning floated away, driven back by a lateafternoon sun of uncommon splendor. The gray-greenplains turned to a brilliant red and gold; the willows, cottonwoods, and oaks seemed sheathed in gold, everybough and twig; the muddy river took on richgleaming tints, and then suddenly the sun was gone, leaving all in darkness, save for the smoldering fires.

Phil slept soundly hour after hour. He was soexhausted physically and mentally that the relaxation wascomplete. No dream good or bad came to trouble him, and Breakstone, who observed his peaceful face, said toMiddleton:

"Talk about knitting up the raveled sleeve of care.That boy is knitting up both sleeves at the same time, and he is knitting them fast."

"He is a good lad," said Middleton, "and a braveone, too. It was his first battle, but he certainly borehimself well. Now I wonder what search is bringing himout here into the wilderness."

"And I guess he, too, often wonders the same about us."

"Just as I have wondered it about you, and as youhave wondered it about me."

"But we find it best-every one of us-to keep oursearch to ourselves for the present."

"It is surely best."

The two men looked at each other rather significantly, and then talked of other things.

Phil was awakened at midnight to take his turn at thewatch. The night, as it is so often on the plains ofTexas, even in summer, was cold, and he shivered a littlewhen he drew himself out of his warm blankets. Thefires were nearly out, leaving only a few coals that didnot warm, and few figures were moving except outside thecircle. His body told Phil that he would much rathersleep on, but his mind told him with greater force thathe must go ahead and do his duty with a willing heart, asteady hand, and a quick eye. So he shook himselfthoroughly, and was ready for action. His orders wereto go in the timber a little to the northward and watchfor snipers. Three others were going with him, but theywere to separate and take regular beats.

Phil shouldered his rifle and marched with his comrades.They passed outside the circles of wagons, andstood for a few moments on the bare plain. Afar off theysaw their own mounted sentinels who watched to thewestward, riding back and forth. The moon was cold, and a chill wind swept over the swells, moaningdismally. Phil shivered and was glad that he had a watchon foot in the timber. His comrades were willing tohasten with him to that shelter, and there they arrangedtheir beats. The belt of timber was about a hundredyards wide, with a considerable undergrowth of bushesand tall weeds. They cut the hundred yards into aboutfour equal spaces, and Phil took the quarter next to theriver. He walked steadily back and forth over the twenty-fiveyards, and at the western end of his beat he regularlymet the next sentinel, a young Mississippian namedWelby, whom Phil liked. They exchanged a few wordsnow and then, but, save their low tones, the monotonousmoaning of the wind among the trees, and an occasionalsigh made by the current of the river, which here flowedrather swiftly, there was no sound. On the opposite bankthe trees and bushes reared themselves, a wall of darkgreen.

The chill of the night grew, but the steadywalking back and forth had increased the circulation andwarmed the blood in Phil's veins, and he did not feel it.His long sleep, too, had brought back all his strength, and he was full of courage and zeal. He had suffered areaction after the battle, but now the second reactioncame. The young victor, refreshed in mind and body, feared nothing. Neither was he lonely nor awed by thevast darkness of night in the wilderness. The words thathe spoke with Welby every few minutes were enough tokeep him in touch with the human race, and he reallyfelt content with himself and the world. He had donehis duty under fire, and now he was doing his dutyagain.

He paused a little longer every time he came to theriver, and forcing his mind now to note every detail, hewas impressed by the change that the stream hadundergone. There was a fine full moon, and the muddytorrent of the day was turned into silver, sparkling morebrightly where the bubbles formed and broke. Thestream, swollen doubtless by rains about its source, flowedrapidly with a slight swishing noise. Phil looked upand down it, having a straight sweep of several hundredyards either way. Now and then the silver of its surfacewas broken by pieces of floating debris, brought doubtlessfrom some far point. He watched these fragmentsas they passed, a bough, a weed, or a stump, or the entiretrunk of a tree, wrenched by a swollen current from somecaving bank. He was glad that he had the watch next tothe river, because it was more interesting. The river wasa live thing, changing in color, and moving swiftly. Itssurface, with the objects that at times swept by on it, was a panorama of varied interest.

Besides Welby he saw no living creature. The campwas hidden from him completely by the trees and bushes, and they were so quiet within the circle of the wagonsthat no sound came from them. An hour passed. Itbecame two, then three. Vaporous clouds floated by themoon. The silver light on the river waned. The currentbecame dark yellow again, but flowing as ever with thatsoft, swishing sound. The change affected Phil. Theweird quality of the wilderness, clothed in dark, madeitself felt. He was glad when he met Welby, and theylingered a few seconds longer, talking a little. He cameback once more to the river, now flowing in a torrentalmost black between its high banks.

He took his usual long survey of the river, both upand down stream. Phil was resolved to do his full duty, and already he had some experience, allied with facultiesnaturally keen. He examined the opposite bank withquestioning eyes. At first it had seemed a solid wall ofdark green, but attention and the habit of the darknessnow enabled him to separate it into individual trees andbushes. Comanches ambushed there could easily shootacross the narrow stream and pick off a white sentinel, but he had always kept himself well back in his ownbushes, where he could see and yet be hidden.

His gaze turned to the river. Darker substances, driftfrom far banks, still floated on its surface. The windhad died. The branches of the trees did not move at all, and, in the absence of all other sound, the slight swishingmade by the flowing of the river grew louder. Hiswandering eyes fastened on a small stump that was comingfrom the curve above, and that floated easily on thesurface. Its motion was so regular that his glance stayed, and he watched it with interested eyes. It was anindependent sort of stump, less at the mercy of the currentthan the others had been. It came on, bearing in towardthe western bank, and Phil judged that if it kept itspresent course it would strike the shore beneath him.

The black stump was certainly interesting. He lookedfarther. Four feet behind it was floating another stumpof about the same size, and preserving the same direction, which was a diagonal line with the current. That was acoincidence. Yet farther was a third stump, showing allthe characteristics of the other two. That was remarkable.And lo! when a fourth, and then a fifth, and thena sixth came, a floating line, black and silent, it was aprodigy.

The first black stump struck lightly against the bank.Then a Comanche warrior, immersed hitherto to the chin, rose from the stream. The water ran in black bubblesfrom his naked body. In his right hand he held a longknife. The face was sinister, savage, and terrible beyondexpression. Another of the stumps was just rising fromthe stream, but Phil fired instantly at the first face, andthen sprang back, shouting, "The Comanches." He didnot run. He merely sheltered himself behind a tree, andbegan to reload rapidly. Welby came running throughthe bushes, and then the others, drawn by the shout. Ina minute the timber was filled with armed men.

"What is it? What is it? What did you shoot at?"they cried, although the same thought was in the minds ofevery one of them.

"The Comanches!" replied Phil. "They came swimmingin a line down the river. Their heads looked likeblack stumps on the water! I fired at the first themoment he rose from the stream! I think it was their planto ambush and kill the sentinels!"

Bill Breakstone was among those who had come, andhe cried:

"Then we must beat them off at once! We must notgive them a chance to get a footing on the bank!"

They rushed forward, Phil with them, his rifle nowreloaded, and gazed down at the river. They heard nonoise, but that slight swishing sound made by thecurrent, and the surface of the stream was bare. The riverflowed as if no foreign body had ever vexed its current.Fifty pairs of eyes used to the wilderness studiedthe stream and the thickets. They saw nothing. Fiftypairs of ears trained to hear the approach of dangerlistened. They heard nothing but the faint swishingsound that never ceased. A murmur not pleasant toPhil, arose.

"I've no doubt it was a stump, a real stump," one ofthe older men said.

A deep flush overspread Phil's face.

"I saw a Comanche with long black hair rise from thewater," he said.

The man who had spoken grinned a little, but theexpression of his face showed that doubt had solidified intocertainty.

"A case of nerves," he said, "but I don't blame youso much, bein' only a boy."

Phil felt his blood grow hot, but he tried to restrainhis temper.

"I certainly saw a Comanche," he said, "and therewere others behind him!"

"Then what's become of all this terrible attack?"!asked the man ironically.

"Come! Come!" said Woodfall. "We can't havesuch talk. The boy may have made a mistake, but theincident showed that he was watching well, just what wewant our sentinels to do."

Phil flushed again. Woodfall's tone was kindly, buthe was hurt by the implication of possible doubt andmistake. Yet Woodfall and the others had ample excusefor such doubts. There was not the remotest sign of anenemy. Could he really have been mistaken? Could ithave been something like a waking dream? Could hisnerves have been so upset that they made his eyes seethat which was not? He stared for a full minute at theempty face of the river, and then a voice called:

"Oh, you men, come down here! I've something toshow you!"

It was Bill Breakstone, who had slipped away fromthem and gone down the bank. His voice came from apoint at least a hundred yards down the stream, and themen in a group followed the sound of it, descending theslope with the aid of weeds and bushes. Bill wasstanding at the edge of a little cove which the water hadhollowed out of the soft soil, and something dark lay at hisfeet.

"I dragged this out of the water," he said. "It wasfloating along, when an eddy brought it into this cove."

They looked down, and Phil shut off a cry with hisclosed teeth. The body, a Comanche warrior, entirelynaked, lay upon its back. There was a bullet hole in thecenter of the forehead. The features, even in death, wereexactly those that the boy had seen rising from the water, sinister, savage, terrible beyond expression. Phil felt acold horror creeping through all his bones, but it was thelook of this dead face more than the fact that he hadkilled a man. He shuddered to think what so muchmalignant cruelty could have done had it gained the chance.

"Well, men," said Bill Breakstone quietly, "was thestory our young friend here told such stuff as dreams aremade on, or did it really happen?"

"The boy told the truth, and he was watching well,"said a half dozen together.

The old frontiersman who had so plainly expressedhis disbelief in Phil-Gard was his name-extended hishand and said to the lad:

"I take it all back. You've saved us from an ambushthat would have cost us a lot of men. I was a fool.Shake hands."

Phil, with a great leap of pride, took the profferedhand and shook it heartily.

"I don't blame you, Mr. Gard," he said. "Thingscertainly looked against me."

"The Comanches naturally took to flight when theirleader was killed," said Woodfall. "They could notcarry through such an attempt without surprise, but goodeyes stopped them."

Phil's heart leaped again with pride, but he saidnothing. They climbed back up the slope, and the guardin the timber was tripled for the short time until day.Phil was told that, as he had already done so much, hemight go off duty now.

He was glad enough to seek rest, and so rapidly washe becoming used to danger that he lay down calmlybefore one of the fires and went to sleep again. He awoketwo or three hours later to a crisp fresh morning, and tothe news that the train would promptly resume itsadvance, whether or not Comanches tried to bar the way.With the intoxicating odor of victory still in theirnostrils, the hardy frontiersmen were as willing as ever foranother combat. But the enemy had disappearedcompletely. A brilliant sun rose over the gray-green swells, disclosing nothing but a herd of antelope that grazed farto the right.

"The antelope mean that no Comanches are near,"said Arenberg. "The warriors will now wait patientlyand a long time for a good opportunity. Sometimesmuch harm iss done where much iss intended."

"That is so," chanted Bill Breakstone.

"As I have often remarked before, Phil, my poetrymay be defective in meter and some other small technicalities, but it comes to the point. That, I believe, wasthe characteristic of Shakespeare, also. I agree, too, with Arenberg, that the Comanches will not trouble usagain for some time. So, I pray thee, be of good cheer,Sir Philip of the Merry Countenance, Knight of theBattle beside the Unknown River, Slayer of Comanches inthe Dark, Guardian of the Public Weal, et cetera, etcetera."

"I am cheerful," said Phil, to whom Breakstone wasalways a tonic, "and I believe that we can beat off theComanches any time and every time."

"Jump on your horse," said Breakstone, a little later;"we're all ready."

Phil leaped into the saddle with one bound. Thetrain moved forward, and he and Breakstone joinedMiddleton and Arenberg at its head. Middleton had powerfulglasses, and he swept the plain far ahead, and to rightand left. His gaze finally settled on a point to thesouth-west. The others followed his look with great interest, but the naked eye could see nothing but the rollinggray-green plains and the dim blue horizon beyond. Middletonlooked so long that at last Bill Breakstone asked:

"What do you see?"

"I do not see anything that I can really call living,"replied Middleton, "but I do see a knoll or slightelevation on the plain-what would be called farther north abutte-and on that knoll is a black blur, shapeless andunnamable at this distance."

"Does the black blur move?" asked Bill Breakstone.

"I cannot tell. It is too far even for that, but fromit comes a beam of brilliant light that shifts here andthere over the plain. Take a look, Bill."

Breakstone eagerly put the glasses to his eyes, andturned them upon the knoll.

"Ah, I see it!" he exclaimed. "It's like a ball oflight! There it goes to the right! There it goes to theleft! Now it falls in our direction! What in the nameof Shakespeare's thirty-five or forty plays is it, Cap?"

"Let me have the glasses, I want another look,"replied Middleton.

His second look was a long one taken in silence. Atlast he replied:

"It's a signal, lads. I've seen the Comanches talk toone another in this way before. A Comanche chief issitting on his horse on top of that knoll. He holds arounded piece of looking-glass in the hollow of his hand, and he turns it in such a way that he catches the veryconcentrated essence of the sun's rays, throwing a beama tremendous distance. The beam, like molten gold, nowstrikes the grass on top of a swell off toward the north.It's a secret just how they do it, for not yet has anywhite man learned the system of signals which they makewith such a glass. Ah!"

The "Ah!" came forth, so deep, so long drawn, andso full of meaning that Phil, Arenberg, and BillBreakstone exclaimed together:

"What is it?"

"I would not have known that the black blur on topof the knoll was a chief on horseback if I had not beenon the Texas plains before," replied Middleton, "butnow I can make out the figures of horse and man, as heis riding around and around in a circle and riding veryrapidly."

"What does that mean?" asked Phil.

"It means danger, not to us, but to the Comanches.The warrior is probably signaling to a band of his tribewho are meditating attack upon us that we are toostrong."

"Then it must be some fresh band," said Bill Breakstone,"because the one that had the little encounter withus yesterday knew that already."

"I take it that you're right," said Middleton, smiling and closing the glasses. "The second band won'tmolest us-not to-day."

"That seems to be a very effective way of signaling,"remarked Phil.

"On the plains, yes," said Middleton. "It is astonishinghow far such a vivid beam of light will carry, asthe crest of the knoll was too high for it to be interceptedby the swells."

Middleton told Woodfall what they had seen. Theleader's chin stiffened a little more, and the wagons wenton at the same pace, trailing their brown length acrossthe prairie.

About ten o'clock the march became difficult, as theyentered a town, but such a town! Its inhabitants wereprairie dogs, queer little animals, which darted down intotheir burrows at the approach of the horsemen andwagons, often sharing the home with a rattlesnake. Butthe horsemen were now compelled to proceed with exceedingcare, as the horses' feet often sank deep down in thedens. Stumbles were frequent and there were severalfalls. Wagon wheels, also, sank, and the advancebecame so difficult that Woodfall halted the train and sentPhil and some others to find a way around the town.

They rode five or six miles to the south, and still thesingular town stretched away, apparently endless. Thenthey came back and rode five or six miles to the northwith the same result. Acting upon the advice ofMiddleton, Woodfall, after hearing these reports, decided togo straight on through the town. It was known that suchtowns had been found twenty-five miles long, and thismight be as large. So they went directly ahead. Theriders dismounted and led their horses. Three timesPhil killed coiling rattlesnakes with the butt of his rifle, but he did not seek to molest any of the prairie dogs.

They moved very slowly, and it was three hours beforethey crossed the prairie dog town, leaving behind themsome destruction, but not more than they could help.

"Well, Sir Philip of the Prairie Dogs, what name areyou going to give to the populous community throughwhich we have just passed?" asked Breakstone.

"I suppose Canine Center will do as well as anyother," replied Phil.

"A wise selection, my gay youth," replied Bill Breakstone."But these animals, properly speaking, are notdogs, they are more like rats. I'm glad we've passed'em. It isn't pleasant to have your horse put his foot inone of their dens and shoot you over his head. The goodhard plain for me."

He cantered forward, and Phil cantered with him, raising his head and breathing the pure air that blew oversuch vast reaches of clean earth. He felt the bloodleaping in his veins again from mere physical happiness.He began to whistle gayly, and then to sing "Open thylattice, love," a song just coming into favor, written bythe man who became yet more famous with "OldKentucky Home" and "Suwanee River." Phil had a fine, fresh, youthful voice, and Breakstone listened to him ashe sang through two verses. Then he held up his hand, and Phil stopped.

"What's the trouble?" asked the boy.

"I don't object to your song, Phil, and I don't objectto your singing, but it won't be a good time for love toopen the lattice; it will be better to close it tight. Don'tyou feel a change in the air, Phil? Just turn your faceto the northwest, and you'll notice it."

Phil obeyed, and it seemed to him now that the airstriking upon his cheek was colder, but he imagined thatit was due to the increasing strength of the wind.

"I do not care if the wind is a little cold," he said."I like it."

chanted Bill Breakstone, and then he added:

"See that gray mist forming in a circle about the sun, and look at that vapor off there in the northwest. ByGeorge, how fast it spreads! The whole sky is becomingovercast! Unroll your blanket, Phil, and have it readyto wrap around you I The whole train must stop andprepare!"

Bill Breakstone turned to give his warning, but others, too, had noticed the signals of danger. The commandstop was given. The wagons were drawn rapidly intocircle, and just as when the danger was Indians, insteadof that which now threatened, all the horses and muleswere put inside the circle. But now all the men, also, took their station inside, none remaining outside as guard.The wind meanwhile rose fast, and the temperaturefell with startling rapidity. The edge of the blast seemedto be ice itself. Phil, who was helping with the corral ofwagons, felt as if it cut him to the bone. He fullyappreciated Bill Breakstone's advice about the blanket.The day also was swiftly turning dark. The sun wasquite gone out. Heavy clouds and masses of vaporformed an impenetrable veil over all the sky. Now, besides the cold, Phil felt his face struck by fine particlesthat stung. It was the sand picked up by the wind, perhaps hundreds of miles away, and hurled upon them inan enveloping storm.

Phil pulled down his cap-brim and also sheltered hiseyes as much as he could with his left arm.

"It's the Norther," cried Breakstone. "Listen to it!"

The wind was now shrieking and howling over theplains with a voice that was truly human, only it was likethe shout of ten thousand human beings combined. Butit was a voice full of malice and cruelty, and Phil wasglad of the companionship of his kind.

The cold was now becoming intense, and he rapidlydrew the blanket about his body. Then he suddenly benthis head lower and completely covered his eyes with hisarm. It was hailing fiercely. Showers of white pellets, large enough to be dangerous, pounded him, and, as thedarkness had now increased to that of night, he gropedfor shelter. Bill Breakstone seized him by the arm andcried:

"Jump into the wagon there, Phil! And I'll jumpafter you!"

Phil obeyed with the quickness of necessity, andBreakstone came in on top of him. Middleton andArenberg were already there.

"Welcome to our wagon," said Arenberg, as Phil andBreakstone disentangled themselves. "You landed onone of my feet, Phil, and you landed on the other, Bill, but no harm iss done where none iss meant."

Phil cowered down and drew his blanket more closelyaround him, while the hail beat fiercely on the archedcanvas cover, and the cold wind shrieked and moanedmore wildly than ever. He peeped out at the front of thewagon and beheld a scene indescribable in its wild andchilling grandeur. The darkness endured. The hail wasdriven in an almost horizontal line like a sheet of sleet.The wagons showed but dimly in all this dusk. Theanimals, fortunately, had been tethered close to thewagons, where they were, in a measure, protected, butmany of them reared and neighed in terror and suffering.One look satisfied Phil, and he drew back well under cover.

"How often does this sort of thing happen in Texas?"he asked Arenberg.

"Not so often," replied the German, "and thisNorther, I think, is the worst I ever saw. The cold windcertainly blows like der Teufel. These storms must starton the great mountains far, far to the north, and I thinkthey get stronger as they come. Iss it not so, HerrBreakstone?"

"Your words sound true to me, Sir Hans of the BeerBarrel," replied Breakstone. "I've seen a few Northersin my time, and I've felt 'em, but this seems to me to beabout the most grown-up, all-around, healthy and friskyspecimen of the kind that I ever met."

Phil thought that the Norther would blow itself out inan hour or two, but he was mistaken. Several hourspassed and the wind was as strong and as cold as ever.The four ate some cold food that was in the wagon, andthen settled back into their places. No attempt would bemade to cook that day. But Phil grew so warm and snugin his blanket among the baggage, and the beating ofthe rain on the stout canvas cover was so soothing, thathe fell asleep after awhile. He did not know how longhe slept, because when he awoke it was still dark, thewind was still shrieking, and the other three, as he couldtell by their regular breathing, were asleep, also. He feltso good that he stretched himself a little, turned on theother side, and went to sleep again.