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Peril Finders

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<h3>Chapter Sixteen.</h3> <h4>Saddle Naps.</h4> The start was made in the direction of the spot where the rest of the train was gathered together, and with all present feeling flushed with excitement and in dread of what might happen, the rope tightened with a jerk, and then threatened to break, for there was no yielding on the part of the kegs after they had followed for a few yards, the sound announcing that they had caught and become wedged amongst the stones. In the midst of a painful silence Griggs said in rather an altered tone— “Well, it’s of no use to make bones about it. I shall have to go and give ’em a clearing shove or two.” “You’ll do no such mad thing,” cried the doctor angrily. “If the rattlesnakes will face the darkness they must be swarming out of their holes after this disturbance. Here, start afresh, Chris. Take the mule’s rein and lead him on steadily a little more to the right.” This was done, but the kegs did not move. “Try to the left now, my boy.” Chris led the animal in the required direction, but the kegs remained fast. “You’ll break the rope,” said Griggs. “Then we must make fast another,” replied the doctor. “We must go farther off now, and pull at right angles.” “You’ll only get the rope cut by some of the upright stones,” said Griggs bitterly. “It’s of no use, doctor. I must go back and—” Bump! At that moment, before the American had finished his sentence, there was a quick movement, the tubs had yielded to the steady strain kept up by the mule, and for the next few minutes they came on, gliding easily over the sand, bumping and hopping over stones, against some of which they collided in a way that threatened to knock off hoops or drive in staves, but they kept on coming till the mule reached the first of its companions, when the doctor called a halt. “Now then,” he said, “lanthorn here!” “What are you going to do, father?” cried Chris anxiously. “Pass the light along the rope till I reach the tubs, to see if there are any snakes twisted about the chain.” “Nay, that’s my job, sir,” cried Griggs eagerly. “We’ll go together,” said the doctor. “Every one else stand back.” The next minute Chris and Ned stood anxiously watching the light of the lanthorn, which was made to run along the rope and the ground till it played only upon the two kegs, which looked dull and indistinct by the shadowy figures which could be dimly-seen. “Look out, sir; there’s one!” shouted Griggs out of the gloom, and the lanthorn seemed to make a sudden jump. So did Chris’s heart at the thought of the danger to which his father might be exposed. The next moment the boy’s pulsations seemed to have ceased, but only for a heavy throbbing to set in, before he gave vent to a low gasp of relief. For the doctor’s voice came clearly to them in the grateful word, “Crushed!” “It’s all right, sir,” said Griggs loudly then. “I’ve cut through him twice, and he has dropped off. Haul away there and pull ’em close up.” The order was obeyed by hand, and the kegs, illumined by the light cast upon them by the lanthorn, were drawn right up to the halting-place. “Don’t cheer, boys,” said the doctor, anticipating a shout. “Here, Griggs,” he continued, “let’s have a little sand over the chain where you cut that horrible reptile away.” “Hold the light a little lower, sir,” said the American. “It’s all right,” he added the next minute, after the light had played over the connecting-links of the two kegs. “Sand’s cleared it all away as they came. They’re as clean as can be. I can’t see anything on the rope or hook either.” “Was there one on it?” asked Chris eagerly. “Yes, a big ’un,” replied Griggs. “He’d tied himself in a tight knot close round the hook and the chain.” “It must have been that he was crushed when the kegs were first moved,” said the doctor. “Nay, sir; I fancy that it was when I hooked the chain. I fancy I must have caught him fast and dragged him close up.” “And then, in resentment,” said the doctor, “the beast twined itself up tightly;—just like an eel on a night-line, boys,” he added. “Did you cut it away, Griggs?” asked Chris. “Yes. I just slipped the point of my knife in between two of his coils twice over, gave a sharp push, and he dropped down wriggling at once.” “Did you see many more?” asked Ned. “Nary one, my lad.” “A bucket here,” said the doctor. “Let’s run out a pannikin from one keg for each of the mustangs.” “Won’t want a bucket then, sir.” “Nonsense, man! We can’t give the mustangs their drop out of a tin. I want it poured into the bottom of the bucket so that each can suck it up to the last drop.” “I see, sir,” cried Griggs, and as the tompion-like stop was unscrewed from the bung-hole of a keg, a shallow iron bucket was cast loose from one of the mule’s loads, the noise in the darkness nearly driving the whole team frantic, connecting the rattle of the handle as they did with water. But they were kept back while the mustangs each took their tiny portions, uttering a piteous remonstrance-like sigh as the bucket was withdrawn again from its muzzle; and this done, the mules had their turn, two of them proving outrageous after getting their taste of water, Skeeter, as Griggs called him, seizing the edge of the bucket with his teeth and holding on till a sharp crack on the flank made him let go. “Poor brutes!” said Ned’s father. “It seems very hard upon them. Such a tiny drop each.” “Yes,” replied the doctor, “but a score of these tiny drops make a hole in the contents of the keg. There, I don’t think we have been unmerciful to our beasts. They have had the first turn. It is ours now.” The animals were driven back, and after the first keg had been as carefully closed up as if its contents were fine gold-dust, the second was opened, and a tin mug filled by the doctor, Wilton holding the little cask. “Now, Ned, you’re the youngest,” cried the doctor. “Oh, you have some first, sir,” said the boy. “Tip it up,” cried the doctor fiercely. “My good lad, you don’t know what agony it is to practise self-denial and etiquette at a time like this.” The doctor spoke so fiercely that his words, combined with the intense thirst from which he suffered, made the boy raise the cup to his lips, to feel a thrill of delight as the lukewarm water trickled down his parched throat. The next moment, thanks to his father’s teaching, he literally dragged the cup from his lips and thrust it in the face of Chris, who was looking at him by the lanthorn light, feeling in agony, and as if his eyes were starting out of his head. “No, no!” he panted. “Drink!” yelled Ned savagely. “Yes, drink, boy!” cried the doctor. “Quick!” The doubling of the emphatic command made Chris obey, and he too sighed bitterly as he drained the last drop from the half-filled mug and passed it back. “Quick, no more ceremony,” cried the doctor, “or I shall be ready to forget myself, for I’m half mad with thirst. Fill up, Wilton. Now, Bourne, drink.” “No, no; you first.” “Drink!” roared the doctor, in a tone which startled his son, and without another word Ned’s father half emptied the mug and handed it to Wilton, who hurriedly drained it, and began to fill it once more. “My turn to order now,” he cried, holding it to the doctor. “We’ve all had a taste now, Lee; you drink all that.” Griggs did not move a muscle, but stood firm, holding the lanthorn now; but he gave a side glance at the glistening cup as the doctor drank, suffering agony the while, but only to heave a sigh of thankfulness on seeing that his leader only swallowed half and then passed him the remainder. “I thought dad wouldn’t forget him,” whispered Chris to Ned, and perhaps it might have been only a couple of drops of the water that had gone the wrong way, but certainly something like a couple of tears glistened for a few moments in Chris’s eyes. “Thank ye, doctor,” said Griggs hoarsely, and the next moment there was a sound like glug—glug!! and the tin mug was empty. “Must have another drink round; eh, doctor?” said Wilton. “Drink?” was the reply. “Well, yes; fill up. We must find water to-morrow.” Half a cupful was passed to each then, swallowed with avidity, and then Wilton sighed as he helped to secure the tompion in its place. “Now,” cried the doctor, “we all want to lie down and rest, but I’m sure we should none of us sleep for thinking of water. The night is fairly clear, and I feel that I can guide you up the rising ground, so I propose that we go on at once.” “Yes, yes,” cried Bourne; “on at any cost, to get away from this horrible nest of reptiles.” “But suppose we go blundering on among them,” cried Wilton. “What do you say, Griggs?” “I say let’s get on, sir, for if we stop here we shall be getting no nearer water, and we shall be having the snakes coming to see where we are for killing that last one of their friends.” To get away from the horrors that haunted the spot was the great desire of all, and with the doctor and Griggs leading, the first a little in advance, and bearing the light, so as to avoid the blocks of stone projecting from the sand, the little party went slowly on hour after hour, ready to stop again and again to throw themselves down and rest. But no one dared to do so lest the jar given to the earth should send some of the poisonous reptiles to the surface in search of the enemy that had intruded upon the solitude which they seemed from their numbers to have marked down for their own domain. The greater part of that night seemed to the two boys like a feverish dream, during which they had been compelled by some strange force to keep plodding on through horrors unspeakable, and tortured by a thirst that was maddening. At times, where the stones lay thick, hardly a word was spoken, but now and again Chris would begin questioning his companion loudly, eager to obtain his opinion as to whether he did not think it must be nearly morning. But Ned’s answers were not encouraging. There was no romance in them; they were too near the truth to suit Chris, and he liked them the less because at heart he felt that they must be correct and his own hopes too sanguine. But all the same he clung to his own ideas—they were so tempting. They were that with daylight they should have reached the end of the wild desert, and that from high up on some sunlit slope they would be gazing down into a broad green valley—some natural paradise through which flowed a rippling stream. He described his notions to Ned, who seemed to be listening attentively in the darkness, and now and then said “Oh,” or “Ah, yes;” but all the time he was clinging involuntarily to his saddle, his head nodding forward again and again, only to be brought back to the perpendicular with a jerk, while Chris was too drowsy himself to notice it, as he went muttering on. “It won’t be the place where the gold city and temple are, Ned,” he said; “but it will be just the spot where we can rest for a few days.” “Ah!” said Ned. “There’ll be fish in that river, you know,” said Chris—“salmon that have come up out of the Pacific; and we can spear them after we’ve drunk all we want, and bathed till we’ve soaked all this horrible dryness out of our skins. All along by the river too there’ll be park-like meadows—meadows—green meadows. Do you hear?” Ned grunted. “And in those park-like prairie places there are sure to be droves of buffalo. Beef—do you hear?—beef!” Chris’s head bowed down as if he were going to lay his forehead upon his mustang’s neck; but the thought of roast beef woke him up again, and he clung a little more tightly with his knees and kept on with his muttering. “I say, don’t go to sleep, Ned,” he said, as he saw his companion follow his own example and bow low. “I feel as sure as sure that’s the sort of place we shall come to. There’ll be great spreading fir-trees too, such as Griggs talked about seeing up north in the Rockies—trees with boughs that will keep off the sun and rain, eh?” “Ah!” grunted Ned. “It will be just the place that we want, to give the horses and mules a good long rest for a few days, to feed up well on good pasture while we shoot, and amuse ourselves, and kill buffalo, and eat hot roast beef—hot roast beef. And drink beautiful, clear, cold water—and you can lie down upon your chest with your face over the running stream, and drink as long as you like of the clear, cold, sparkling water—sparkling water—sparkling water—sparkling—wa—” “Ah!” said Ned. “Come, boys; come, boys!” said a familiar voice out of the darkness. “Sparkling water,” repeated Chris drowsily. “Much as you like, Mr Bourne.” “To be sure, my boy,” said the owner of the name, laying one hand upon Chris’s shoulder, the other upon Ned’s, but with no effect whatever save to make them both seem to roll in their saddles as he forced his horse in between them. “Sit up; come, or you’ll be falling out of the saddle. Very sleepy, Ned?” “Ah!” grunted the boy. “Poor fellow!” said Bourne, with a sigh. Then aloud—“Can’t you keep awake, Chris?” “Spear fish—salmon—sparkling water,” sighed the boy, bowing very low this time. “Come, try and wake up, my lad; we’re getting on higher ground, and it’s not so rocky here. As soon as day begins to break we shall come to a halt, and rest for a few hours—that is, if we can be sure that there are no rattlesnakes near.” “Eh? Snakes?” said Chris, sitting very upright now, and gazing in the face of Ned’s father. “Yes, snakes. Made the water taste snaky. Horrid! Dries up your tongue. Tasted snaky.” “Mine didn’t,” said Bourne. “I thought it was the sweetest drop I ever tasted in my life. Come, come, Ned; do you want me to hold you on your pony? Keep up a little longer, boy.” “Ah!” grunted Ned, straightening himself and feeling about for the reins, which had escaped his hand, not that any guidance was wanted, the intelligent beast following the fight of the lanthorn, clearly seen moving ahead as Griggs’ mustang plodded on. “Why, you’re asleep, Ned.” “No, father,” answered the boy, telling a most brazen falsehood, for the moment before he was breathing so hard that the sounds were first cousins to heavy snores. “That’s right, then. We’ve had a long weary ride to-day, but we’re going up-hill now and the air’s growing cooler. We must be leaving the sandy plains behind.” “Yes, leave behind. Won’t fall off,” muttered Ned, who was sinking fast into a state of stupor. And all the while from ahead, close by the moving lanthorn, came the musical cling, cling, cling, cling of the mules’ bell, with the low muttering sound made by the doctor and Griggs as they entered into a conversation about the state of the country into which they were penetrating. “Poor fellows!” said Bourne half-aloud. “I can do nothing to keep them awake. Perhaps they will not fall off, after all.” It was growing darker, but he noted that the mustangs seemed to regulate their movements to those of their riders, and in nowise altered their steady walk when one or the other lurched and made a spasmodic effort to recover himself. Then Bourne sighed and looked right ahead at the dull star of the lanthorn in front, some of whose rays fell from time to time upon the moving pack carried by one of the mules. From that he turned his eyes upward to the glorious stars, whose rays gave just sufficient light to enable the line of animals to avoid any obstacle in the way, though that was seldom, for Skeeter plodded steadily along with his bell, and the mules which followed almost planted their hoofs, elephant-fashion, in the prints made by those which had gone before. “What a long, long, weary night!” sighed Bourne at last. “Will the morning never come?” “Who’s that?”—a sharp voice from close behind. “I. Anything the matter, Wilton?” “Yes; I nearly fell off my nag just now, to be left behind.” “You mustn’t do that. ’Ware snakes.” “Oh, don’t mention them,” came with a shudder. “But thank goodness!” “By all means; but for what in particular now?” “You gave me such a fright.” “I did? How? I’ve been here with the boys for the last quarter of an hour.” “The boys? Where are they?” “Here, one each side.” “Oh! I thought those were mules with packs. Do you hear, lads?” There was no reply. “What’s the matter with them? Tired and sulky?” “Tired? Yes! Sulky? No. They’re both fast asleep.” “Poor fellows! No wonder. So was I just now.” “But you said I gave you a fright. I did nothing. What was it?” “I was fast asleep, I tell you, holding on I suppose by my knees, when I woke up and found that you were not by my side.” “But I told you I was going to ride on and see how the boys were getting on.” “Did you? I didn’t hear a word. I must have been sound.” “But you answered me, and said, ‘All right.’” “Very likely, but it was in my sleep. When I woke up, though, and found you were not with me, it was a regular shock, for I thought you must have fallen off and be lying somewhere in the darkness and your nag beside you. The sensation was horrible, for in my stupid sleepy state I felt that we might never find you again.” “How horrible!” “It was, I can tell you. It roused me up a bit, and I had common-sense enough left in the midst of my scare to push on first and make sure. You can’t think what a feeling of relief it gave me when you answered. I say, it would be awful if either of us were lost.” “Awful indeed,” said Bourne, with a sigh. “We’re on a wild chase, Wilton.” “We are; but we’re in for it, and we must carry it through.” “I suppose so; but one night like this is enough. I say, will it ever be morning?” There was no reply, and they went on for a few minutes in silence, and then there was a sudden check. “What’s wrong now?” said Wilton sharply. “Anything the matter, Lee?” cried Bourne, for the mules seemed to have come to a sudden stop, just as if all had been moved by one impulse communicated to them by their leader. “I don’t know yet, and I’m obliged to be very cautious.” “Strikes me that we’ve been coming up and up for the last hour, sir,” said Griggs, “and that we’re now just at the edge of a cañon with a drop down to nowhere just ahead. Skeeter came to a stop all at once.” “I’ll get down and see what I can make out with the lanthorn.” “Wait a minute, sir, while I get a rope uncoiled. You shall have it fast round you and the other end to my saddle. These places go straight down sometimes hundreds of feet to a river. Listen! Can you hear water?” There was silence for a few moments before the doctor said— “No.” “Too deep down perhaps, sir.” “Well, I can soon see if I go cautiously, and you let the rope pass slowly through your hands. But try first if the bell-mule will take a step or two in advance.” “Not he, sir. I can see; he’s got his legs all spread-out like a milking-stool.” The doctor was off his horse, and the next minute he was advancing slowly, with the lanthorn held near the ground. “There’s nothing here that need have stopped him, but—Oh, what a blessing!” “What is, sir?” “Here’s short grass, and the mules cropping it.” “Then there’s no cañon, sir,” said Griggs sharply. “The poor brutes are all dead beat; they’ve come to something that they can nibble, and they’ve struck work. The ponies are at it too. It’s as good as saying that they won’t stir another peg till daylight, if they will then.” “Why, two of the mules have regularly squatted down, with their loads touching the ground,” said the doctor, holding up the lanthorn. “Yes, it’s all right, sir,” cried Griggs. “There’s no cañon, but level ground all about, I’ll be bound. They’ve called a halt without being told, so we must do the same.” “But here, with those horrible snakes about?” cried Bourne. “None here, sir,” said Griggs. “If there were one it would have been smelt out by this time, and the poor beasts wouldn’t have been so quiet. Oh, we’re right for a time, sir; and, I say, hadn’t we better follow the beasts’ example and find a bit of something to eat?” “And drink?” said Wilton. “Nay, eating will make our mouths turn a bit moist; we’ve no business to touch any more of that water till we know where the next is to come from. Let’s chance it, sir, and relieve the poor brutes of their packs.” “Very well,” said the doctor, “but I don’t like halting without knowing our ground. You know my rules that I laid down.” “No rule without an exception,” said Wilton drowsily. “This is one. I don’t want anything to eat, but if I die for it I must sleep.” “Well, I’ll do the best I can to keep watch with the lanthorn,” said the doctor; “but some one must relieve me soon.” “Put the light out, sir,” said Griggs. “There’s morning coming yonder. It’s of no use, sir. We must chance everything and sleep. I can’t keep awake any more.” “Let’s have the packs off, then. By the way, where are the boys?” “Here are their ponies,” replied Bourne, peering about in the darkness. “Tut, tut, tut! Here they are upon the ground, fast asleep too. Here, Ned—Chris! Wake up, my lads; you can’t lie there.” Ned’s father was never more away from the truth in an assertion. In fact, he was quite wrong, for the two boys were proving that they could lie there, and were sleeping heavily, careless of snakes, and ponies’ or mules’ hoofs, careless of everything but obeying the stern dictates of a monitor who bade them sleep and make up for lost time. Hunger and thirst did not exist to them then, nor did they to any other member of the expedition, for when day came brightly, not very long after, it was to look down upon the strange group of horses, mules, packs, and men, lying anyhow upon a wide down-like place covered with thin, short, crisp grass, which the animals were browsing upon contentedly enough. Fortunately for the party there was no sign of danger far or near—nothing but rolling down for a few miles, and beyond that mountains towering up towards the clouds, looking clear and distinct in the pearly grey of morning, and apparently close at hand, though some sixty or seventy miles away. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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