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<h3>Chapter Nine.</h3> <h4>A Night Scare.</h4> It had been decided that they should make for the farthest part known to them south and west, where the wildest country lay, and they had been twice before, Griggs having paid double that number of visits in search of game. There the cultivation ceased entirely, for the rich soil gave place to sage-brush and a far-stretching tract of salt or alkali desert, Griggs proposing that they should cross this, for after a good deal of questioning the settlers in that direction, he elicited the information that one of the settlers upon the verge of the good lands had seen a strange-looking tramp, as he called him, pass his lonely shanty one evening, but feeling no desire for any such company he had stood back among the trees, and his place had certainly not been seen by the stranger. “That shows we should be a bit nearer where he came from,” said Griggs, “and it would be a fair day’s journey for a beginning. We could find a spot to camp out for the night, and start early the next morning to see if we could not cross the bad land before dark.” “How far would it be?” asked Bourne. “Ah, that we must find out from the man who lives nearest to the edge,” replied Griggs. “He’s pretty sure to have been some distance into the desert shooting, and even if he doesn’t know he’ll be able to tell us where we can find water, for that’s what we must always go by. When it’s too far off for a day’s journey we must take our bottles and the little casks full.” The mules soon steadied down; the day was hot, but not unpleasantly so, and after crossing a very wild patch some miles in extent they picked up a track and followed it, to come upon cultivated land again, and the track led them to a shanty built upon the bank of a river also dried into a series of pools; but as they approached the house and obtained a near inspection of the cultivated ground it became very plain that no hoe had been between the rows of fruit-trees that year, and on riding up to the shingled wood house, they found no sign of living creature—no ducks paddling in the pool, or fowls pecking about near the enclosed yard; all was still and silent. They had come upon another sign of failure, for, as far as they could see, the place had been deserted for quite a year. “A sign that we are not alone in giving up,” said the doctor; “but it will make a capital place for our first halt. Go and see what the water is like in that farthest pool, Chris. This one is nearly all mud.” Chris urged his mustang forward towards where there was a glint of water through some trees four or five hundred yards ahead, but he had not gone one-fourth of the distance before he was overtaken by Ned, who was as eager as he to see what the place was like. They soon knew—a carefully-tended Far West estate, given up and allowed to go back to a state of nature. Fruit-trees had been planted in abundance, but as the boys got farther from the house the wild vines and weeds were gradually mastering the useful trees, and in another year or two the plantations would have lost all trace of the hand of man and be wild jungle once more. “I dare say there’ll be fish enough,” said Chris. “This is a deeper pool than we generally see. I say, how sandy the ground is here!” The next minute they realised why it was so sandy, for instead of its being a cleared track it proved to be the dried-up bed of a little sandy river, one that linked the pools together when the wet season came on. “It looks as if no water had been along here for a twelvemonth,” said Chris. “Look there.” His cob had seen the object at which he pointed first, and stopped short with its ears pricked forward to where, grey and glistening, a snake lay basking in the hot sunshine amongst some stones, but now, alarmed by the snort given by Chris’s mustang, it began to glide away, passing amongst some dried-up reeds and leaves, giving forth its strange soft rattling sound with its tail the while. “Well, we don’t want to waste powder and shot on him,” said Chris. “Come on,” and they rode on to the edge of what proved to be a shallow lagoon some acres in extent, from which they startled a few waterfowl into flight, the ducks, as they splashed along the surface before rising, starting off other occupants of the pool in turn, a little shoal of fish darting off and raising a wave which marked their course towards the middle, where, the water growing deeper, they disappeared. “Well,” said Chris, “we know all we want to know now.—There are rattlers about, and if it wasn’t for them it wouldn’t be a bad place for a long halt.” “We can take care to avoid the snakes,” said the doctor, “and as there is plenty of good water we’ll stay here till the morning; but as we are in such good time two or three of us will ride on to see what the country’s like further on. Perhaps the next plantation may have some one to give us a little information.” Camp was formed then as far as was necessary, the fairly-well-built house offering plenty of shelter, and the place round, ample grazing-ground for the beasts. A hasty meal was made, and then Wilton and Griggs were appointed scouts, riding off and returning at sundown with the information that the plantation they were on was the farthest to be seen—all beyond was wilderness, but with nothing in the shape of high ground beyond, save in one spot where a hill or two rose faintly blue against the sky. “Isn’t it jolly!” said Ned, after they had partaken of an exceedingly muddly meal, the water being fetched from the lagoon, and the fire for boiling their coffee having been made of wood that was indisposed to burn, while no matter where they arranged the provisions it was only to have them attacked by insects, which came from under planks or stones, dropped from the rough ceiling of the decaying shanty, came flying, crawling, hopping, or with sharp raps as if they had formed part of the charge of a gun. But it was a change. Everything was fresh, and this first start had ended the monotonous drudgery of their unsatisfactory life at the plantation. So Ned had given his opinion that it was jolly, an idea which, now he had shaken off the feeling of depression at leaving what had for years been his home, Chris fully shared. For the boys’ spirits had risen as they rode through the bright sunny day, and they only found disappointment in one thing—the fact of being compelled to regulate the pace of their mustangs by that of the heavily-laden mules, whose rate of progress was about equal to that of an ordinary British donkey driven in from a common. Over and over again they longed to give their sturdy, well-chosen little nags a touch with the heel to send them racing along through the dusty-looking sage-brush; but they had to be contented with plodding steadily along behind the train, save when Chris found that there was something he wanted to ask Griggs, who kept on by the leading mule and its bell, and then the question seemed to be so important and weighty that it took two boys to carry it. The first few times the doctor had taken no notice, but after Chris had cantered forward four times to rein up on one side of the American, with Ned on the other, his father said dryly when he overtook him— “There’s a good old saying that has to do with thoughtfulness, Chris. It is this: Let your head save your heels. To apply it in this case, it should be, Save your pony’s heels.” “I don’t understand you, father,” said the boy. “Don’t you? I only meant, the next time you want to ask about something that has been left behind, keep it in your head till you think of the next thing, and the next. You might collect half-a-dozen, and then you could go and ask them altogether. Do you see?” “Yes, father,” said Chris, who turned rather red. “Be patient, my boy, and you’ll have plenty of hard riding, perhaps more than you anticipate.” There seemed to be no necessity for the precaution so near home, but the doctor said that they had better begin as they would have to go on “when in the enemy’s country,” as he put it, with a smile. “Before long we may be where there will be risk of our animals stampeding, or being stolen. Later on, when we are in the Indians’ country, we shall have to guard against attack, so we will divide the night into watches.” This was before settling down for the night in and about the deserted fruit-farm. “Oh,” cried Wilton; “but surely this is being too particular. Every one is tired. We have had a very wearing day, beginning so early as we did with the packing and getting off.” “Yes,” said the doctor coldly, “but the success or failure of the expedition depends upon our being punctilious. A stitch in time saves nine, my dear boy.” “But—” began Wilton, in a tone of protest. “One moment,” said the doctor. “Let me make a suggestion. We want to start early every morning for Unknownia, if you will let me coin a name for the place of our search.” “Of course,” said Bourne. “We must always break the neck of our journey by getting over a good many miles before the heat of the day sets in.” “That’s good advice,” cried Griggs. “Very well, then,” continued the doctor; “we don’t want to waste time in lighting fires and hunting up horses and mules that have strayed no one knows where in the course of the night, do we?” “No, of course not. I see,” said Wilton. “I give in.” “The man who takes the morning watch will have breakfast ready before daybreak, and then there will be nothing to do but load up the mules and start off the moment it is light enough.” There were no dissenters from the leader’s practical proposals, and he elected to take the first half of the night’s watch himself, Griggs to take the second, and soon afterwards the animals were hobbled and left to graze, one of the barn-like buildings was chosen for resting-place, and those who were free from duty lay down to sleep. The two boys naturally enough made up their bed of dry sage-brush on the decaying floor of the building, and then, in response to the doctor’s orders to get off to sleep at once so as to be well rested and fresh for the next day’s work, they lay wide awake, talking in whispers. To do them justice, this was no fault of theirs. They were tired enough, but their eyelids felt as if they were furnished with springs which held them wide open, to stare through the open side of the barn at the glittering stars, while their ears were all on the strain to listen to the different sounds that came from all around. At first there was the cropping of the horses and mules, as they feasted on the fresh shoots of the abundant growth, owing to the moisture beneath the little dry river-bed having kept the coarse grasses pretty succulent. There was the hum of mosquitoes and the boom of big beetles, and every now and then the cry and answering cry of some animal unknown from out in the sage-brush. But for a time the lads lay silent, till a peculiar mournful shout, as it seemed to be, came from the direction of the lagoon, sounding so mournful and human that it was too much for Ned, who whispered— “Awake, Chris?” “Of course. Who’s to go to sleep with millions of things getting up your legs and arms and down your neck? I wish I’d taken off my clothes. Isn’t it hot!” “Yes, yes; but did you hear that?” “Yes.” “What was it?” “Owl,” said Chris shortly. “I know it was a howl,” said Ned, “but it was more like a shout or hail.” “Owl, owl, hunting about over the brush for young hares or rats and mice.” “Oh, of course. I never thought of that,” said Ned, and he settled down quietly for a few minutes, before saying in a whisper: “I say, isn’t it queer that one seems to hear hundreds of things now that one never noticed at home?” “I don’t know. Perhaps we should have heard some of these ticks and squeaks and rustlings if we had lain awake. I say, Ned, I believe all the wild things from round about are coming to see what we want here.” “Very likely. What’s that?” “What?” “That flash of light. Is it a storm coming?” “Pooh! No. Father threw some bits of dry stuff on the fire.” “To be sure. But I say, Chris, that’s why all these insects and things come creeping up. It’s the light that attracts them.” “Of course it is. I wish you’d go to sleep.” “I will as soon as I can, but you needn’t be so disagreeable.” “Enough to make me. I’m tired, and you keep on talking like an old woman. Not frightened, are you?” “Nonsense! No. Ugh!” Ned started up, his action following the ejaculation belying his words, for all of a sudden from near at hand came a dull thud as if a heavy blow had been struck, followed by what sounded in Ned’s ears like a shriek of agony. “What’s that?” he gasped. “One mule tried to bite another in the back, had a kick for his pains, and called ‘Murder!’ in mulese,” said Chris sourly. “I say, I shall have a bed-room to myself to-morrow night if you’re going on like this.” Ned was silent, for his companion’s words rankled. “Perhaps I ought to have known,” he said, “but it’s all so strange lying out here in the darkness.” He turned over on the other side, determined to sleep now, and he tried hard for quite a quarter of an hour, the effort seeming to make him more wakeful than ever, for his senses were all upon the strain, while as the night progressed fresh noises, some of them quite peculiar, seemed to arise. Once he started, for there was a heavy splash which in the clear air sounded quite near, but which was evidently from the lagoon; and it put to flight an idea he had been nursing up of going down to the sheet of water and ridding himself of his hot tickling clothes so as to have a good swim before breakfast. That was all over now, for that splash told of alligators swimming in the lagoon to his heated imagination. He had never heard of the reptiles existing in that part of the country, but he knew that there were plenty in the swamps farther to the south, and there was no reason why there might not be some in the wild districts into which they were plunging. Another splashing noise succeeded, and he felt that it might have been made by a fish, and others which succeeded have been caused by waterfowl. But all idea of bathing was dismissed. At last, after a long hot lapse of time, during which he had given many a vicious rub to the unclothed parts of his body, and turned again, feeling as if there were far too many buttons on his clothes, which instead of confining themselves to their proper duty of holding the said garments in their places, felt as if they had become animate and were engaged in treating his flesh as if it was wax and they were seals. “Hah!” he sighed, at last, as the sounds grew apparently more dull and distant, Chris’s breathing heavy and regular, and a feeling of restful ease began to pervade his being. “Old Chris is fast asleep, and I’m going off at last. Oh, how tired, how sleepy I do—Ugh!” He did not rub now, he dared not, and that ejaculation was like a husky sigh—very low; but it was loud enough to rouse Chris into wakefulness. “What’s the matter?” he whispered. There was no reply for a few moments, and Chris repeated the question, adding, “Did you speak?” “I must have been dropping off and dreamed it,” thought Chris, but the next moment his name was uttered in a strange whisper. “Yes? All right! What is it?” “There’s something on me,” came back faintly. “Well, knock it off.” “I daren’t. I can’t move.” “What, is it so heavy?” said Chris mockingly. “N–no. I’m afraid it’ll bite.” “A skeeter?” “No,” said Ned, more faintly. “Call to your father for help.” “What for? Here, shall I strike a light?” “N–no. It might make it angry.” “It? It?” said Chris, with all the petulance of one who had been previously disturbed by his bed-fellow’s alarms. “What is it?” “Down by the pool—the hot sand—you know—amongst the stones.” “What! A snake?” whispered Chris, alarmed in turn now, and feeling the cold perspiration breaking out on his temples. “Yes—a rattler.” “Look here, you boys,” said a stern voice, in a whisper from close at hand, “I begged you to—” “A light, father! Be careful!” gasped Chris, and the next moment there was a sharp scratching sound, a flash, and a pale light played over the recumbent figures. “Now then, what is it?” “Oh, it’s gone now,” groaned Ned. “I felt it glide off when you struck the match, sir.” “Leap off, you mean,” said the doctor. “Rats don’t glide.” “Oh, it wasn’t a rat, sir,” said the boy faintly. “It was a rattler.” “Nonsense! Not here.” “Yes, sir; they swarm. Chris and I saw a big one down in the river-bed this afternoon.” “Pooh!” cried the doctor. “But this is your bed, not the river’s. It is not likely that one would be here. If there were any about, they’d be a deal more likely to favour me by the fire. You’ve been dreaming, my boy.” “Oh no, sir. It was too horribly real.” “Real enough, but some little animal—a mouse, more likely,” said the doctor, putting out the second match he had lit most carefully. “Look here, have you boys got matches?” “Yes, father.” “Be careful how you use them, then. This place is as dry as tinder. Now then, go to sleep.” He backed out of the place, and the boys lay listening to the rustle and crackle of his departing steps. “Think it was—not a snake, Chris?” said Ned, at last. “Yes. If it had been a rattler father wouldn’t have gone off like that. You didn’t feel it crawl, did you?” “Yes, right up in my chest, and I bore it till I felt it touch my neck, and then—Oh, it was a horrid sensation!” “Yes,” said Chris slowly, “a horrid sensation, but it wasn’t a rattler. I say, think you can go to sleep now?” “I’m going to try. But, I say, I never thought that sleeping out in the wilds—” “We haven’t got to the wilds yet,” said Chris. “No, no; but this is bad enough.” “Pooh! We shall get used to it, and think nothing of sleeping anywhere. I say, I was asleep, and you woke me out of a beautiful dream—such a lovely one.” “Did I?” said Ned, rather uneasily. “What was it?” “I dreamed that we had found the place just as it is on the map, and you couldn’t put your foot down anywhere without treading upon gold; and then your rattlesnake came and spoiled it. Here, I’m going to sleep again to finish that dream. Can’t you go now?” “I’ll try,” said Ned, who felt horribly ashamed about his false alarm. But it took no trying. Five minutes later both boys were sleeping soundly after this initiation in what they would have to encounter during their wild journey. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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