The Border Boys with the Texas Rangers
Page 4
CHAPTER III.
AN ATTEMPT AT “GETTING EVEN.”
The Rangers, still overshadowed by that pall of yellow dust that seemedinseparable from them, and almost as much a part of themselves astheir horses or accouterments, dashed gallantly out of the town andacross the rather dreary expanse of mesquite and thorny cactus that laybetween San Mercedes and the Rio Grande. On the brink of the stream,which at that point flowed between steep bluffs of a reddish hue, theydrew rein.
The boys peered curiously over the bluff on the edge of which theyhad halted. They saw a shallow, slowly flowing stream obstructed withsand bars and shallows. On its banks grew scanty patches of brushand dull–colored, stunted trees; but the scene was a dreary, almostmelancholy one.
“So this is the Rio Grande!” exclaimed Ralph, in a disappointed voice,“I always thought of it as a noble river dashing along between steepbanks and————”
“Gracious, you talk like Sir Walter Scott,” grinned Jack; “the RioGrande at this time of the year, so I’ve been told, is always likethis.”
“Why, it’s not much more than a mud puddle,” complained Walt Phelps.
“I’m not so sure about that, young men,” put in Captain Atkinson,who had overheard their conversation, “at certain times in the earlyspring, or winter you’d call it back east, or when there is a cloudburst, the old Rio can be as angry as the best of them.”
“What’s a cloud burst?” asked Ralph curiously. “I’ve read of them but Inever knew just what they were.”
“Well, for a scientific explanation you’ll have to ask somebody wiserthan me,” laughed Captain Atkinson, “but for an everyday explanation,a cloud burst occurs when clouds, full of moisture, come in contactwith mountain tops warmer than the clouds themselves. This causes theclouds to melt all at once—precipitation, I believe the weather sharpscall it—and then if you are in this part of the country, look out forsqualls along the river.”
“But I don’t quite understand,” remarked Walt. “I guess I’m dense orsomething. I mean there are no mountains here.”
“No; but up among the sources of the Rio there are,” explained theleader of the Rangers, “and a cloud burst even many hundred miles awaymeans a sudden tidal wave along this part of the Rio.”
“Well, it certainly looks as if it could stand quite a lot more waterwithout being particularly dangerous,” commented Jack.
At this point of the conversation Captain Atkinson gave a quick lookaround as the rumble of approaching wheels was heard.
“Here comes the chuck–wagon, I guess,” he said; “you boys will have toexcuse me while I ride off to tell them where to make a pitch.”
“Yes; I suppose a chuck wagon naturally would make a pitch,” grinnedRalph, as Captain Atkinson clattered off.
“The kind of pitch he means is a location,” rejoined Walt Phelps.“Look, boys! there she comes. Well, that means that we don’t starve,anyhow.”
The others followed the direction of Walt’s gaze and saw a biglumbering vehicle drawn by eight mules approaching across the mesquiteplain. It was roofed with canvas, and through this roof stuck a rustyiron stove pipe. From this blue smoke was pouring in a cloud.
“Talk about a prairie schooner. I guess that’s a prairie steamer. Lookat her smoke–stack,” cried Ralph.
“Yes; and look at the captain,” laughed Jack, pointing to the yellowface and flying queue of a Chinaman, which were at this momentprojected from the back of the wagon.
“That’s the cook,” said Walt Phelps, “I guess he’s been getting supperready as they came along.”
A loud cheer went up from the Rangers as their traveling dining–roomcame into sight.
“Hello, old Sawed Off, how’s chuck?” yelled one Ranger at the grinningChinaman.
“Hey, there! What’s the news from the Chinese Republic?” shoutedanother.
“Me no Chinese ‘public. Me Chinese Democlat!” bawled the yellow man,waving an iron spoon and vanishing into the interior of his wheeleddomain.
“They call him Sawed Off because his name is Tuo Long,” chuckledCaptain Atkinson, when he had directed the driver of the cook wagonwhere to draw up and unharness his mules, “but he’s a mighty goodcook—none better, in fact. He’s only got one failing, if you can callit such, and that is his dislike of the new Chinese Republic. If youwant to get him excited you’ve only to start him on that.”
“I don’t much believe in getting cooks angry,” announced Walt Phelps,whose appetite was always a source of merriment with the Border Boys.
“Nor I. But come along and get acquainted with the boys. By–the–way,you brought blankets and slickers as I wrote you?”
“Oh, yes, and canteens, too. In fact, I guess we are all prepared to beregular Rangers,” smiled Jack.
By this time the camp was a scene of picturesque bustle. Ponies hadbeen unsaddled and tethered, and presently another wagon, loaded withbaled hay in a great yellow stack, came rumbling up. The Rangers, whohad by this time selected their sleeping places and bestowed theirsaddles, at once set about giving their active little mounts theirsuppers.
First, each man mounted on his pony barebacked and rode it down to theriver to get a drink of water. To do this they had to ride some littledistance, as the bluffs at that point were steep and no path offered.At last, however, a trail was found, and in single file down they wentto the watering place.
The boys followed the rest along the steep path, Jack coming last ofthe trio. The trail lay along the edge of the bluff, and at some placeswas not much wider than a man’s hand. Jack had reached the worst partof it, where a drop of some hundred feet lay below him, when he wasastonished to hear the sound of hoofs behind him.
He was astonished because, he had judged, almost everybody in thecamp had preceded him while he had been busy inspecting the differentarrangements. He faced round abruptly in his saddle and saw that therider behind him was Shorty.
It must have been at almost the same moment that, for some unknownreason, Shorty’s horse began to plunge and kick. Then it dashedforward, bearing down directly on Jack.
“Look out!” shouted Jack, “there’s only room for one on the trail.You’ll knock me off!”
“I can’t pull him in! I can’t pull him in!” yelled Shorty, making whatappeared to be frantic efforts to pull in his pony. At the same time hekept the cayuse to the inside of the trail.
Jack saw that unless he did something, and quickly, too, his pony waslikely to become unmanageable and plunge off the narrow path. But therewas small choice of remedies. Already Shorty’s horse, which was comingas if maddened by something, was dashing down on him. Jack resolved totake a desperate chance. The others had by this time almost reachedthe bottom of the trail. As fast as he dared he compelled his pony togallop down the steep incline. It was a dangerous thing to do, for thetrail was too narrow to afford any foothold at more than a slow andcareful walk.
Behind him, yelling like one possessed, came Shorty. Jack urged hismount faster.
“Goodness! I hope we get to the bottom safely!” he gasped out.
The words had hardly left his lips when he felt his pony’s hoofs slipfrom under him.
The next instant, amid a horrified shout from the men below, Jack andthe pony went rolling and plunging off the trail down toward the river.
The last sound Jack heard was Shorty’s loud:
“Yip! yip! Ye–o–o–ow!”