Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains

by Randall Parrish

  Suddenly Keith halted, bringing his pony's head sharply about, so thatthe two faced one another. The wind was rising, hurling clouds of sandinto their eyes, and the plainsman held one hand before his face.

  "There's no need of keeping up a water trail any longer," he saidquietly. "By all the signs we're in for a sand storm by daylight, andthat will cover our tracks so the devil himself couldn't follow them.Got a water bag on your saddle?"

  "I reck'n dis am one, sah."

  Keith felt of the object Neb held forth.

  "Yes, and a big one, too; fill it and strap it on tight; we've got along, dry ride ahead."

  "Whar' yo' propose goin', Massa Jack?"

  "To the 'Bar X' on the Canadian. I've worked with that outfit. They'llgive us whatever we need, and ask no questions; I don't know of anythingin between. It's going to be a hard ride, boy, and mighty little to eatexcept what I saved from supper."

  "How far am it to dis yere 'Bar X'?"

  "A hundred and fifty miles as the crow flies, and sand all the way,except for the valley of Salt Fork. Come on now, and keep close, forit's easy to get lost in these sand hills."

  Keith had ridden that hundred and fifty miles of sandy desolationbefore, but had never been called upon to make such a journey as thisproved to be. He knew there was little to fear from human enemies, forthey were riding far enough east of the Santa Fe trail to be out of thepath of raiding parties, while this desert country was shunned by Indianhunters. It consisted of sand hill after sand hill, a drear waterlesswaste where nothing grew, and amid the dread sameness of which atraveller could only find passage by the guidance of stars at nightor the blazing sun by day. To the eye mile after mile appearedexactly alike, with nothing whatever to distinguish either distance ordirection--the same drifting ridges of sand stretching forth inevery direction, no summit higher than another, no semblance of greenshrubbery, or silver sheen of running water anywhere to break the dullmonotony--a vast sandy plain, devoid of life, extending to the horizon,overhung by a barren sky.

  They had covered ten miles of it by daybreak, their ponies travellingheavily, fetlock deep, but could advance no further. With the first tintof rose in the east the brooding storm burst upon them in wild desertfury, the fierce wind buffeting them back, lashing their faces withsharp grit until they were unable to bear the pain. The flying sandsmote them in clouds, driven with the speed of bullets. In vain they layflat, urging their ponies forward; the beasts, maddened and blinded bythe merciless lashing of the sand, refused to face the storm. Keith,all sense of direction long since lost, rolled wearily from the saddle,burrowed under the partial shelter of a sand dune, and called upon Nebto follow him. With their hands and feet they made a slight wind-break,dragging the struggling ponies into its protection, and burrowedthemselves there, the clouds of sand skurrying over them so thick asto obscure the sky, and rapidly burying them altogether as though in agrave. Within an hour they were compelled to dig themselves out, yet itproved partial escape from the pitiless lashing. The wind howled likeunloosed demons, and the air grew cold, adding to the sting of the grit,when some sudden eddy hurled it into their hiding place. To endeavorfurther travel would mean certain death, for no one could have guided acourse for a hundred feet through the tempest, which seemed to suck thevery breath away. To the fugitives came this comfort--if they could notadvance, then no one else could follow, and the storm was completelyblotting out their trail.

  It was three o'clock before it died sufficiently down for them toventure out. Even then the air remained full of sand, while constantlyshifting ridges made travel difficult. Only grim necessity--thesuffering of the ponies for water, and their own need for soon reachingthe habitation of man and acquiring food--drove them to the earlyventure. They must attain the valley of the Salt Fork that night,or else perish in the desert--there remained no other choice. Tyingneckerchiefs over their horses' eyes, and lying flat themselves, theysucceeded in pressing slowly forward, winding in and out among theshifting dunes, with only the wind to guide them. It was an awful trail,the hoofs sinking deep in drifting sand, the struggling ponies becomingso exhausted that their riders finally dismounted, and staggered forwardon foot, leading them stumbling blindly after. Once the negro's horsedropped, and had to be lashed to its feet again; once Keith's ponystumbled and fell on him, hurling him face down into the sand, and hewould have died there, lacking sufficient strength to lift the deadweight, but for Neb's assistance. As it was he went staggering blindlyforward, bruised, and faint from hunger and fatigue. Neither man spoke;they had no breath nor energy left to waste; every ounce of strengthneeded to be conserved for the battle against nature. They were fightingfor life; fighting grimly, almost hopelessly, and alone.

  About them night finally closed in, black and starless, yet fortunatelywith a gradual dying away of the storm. For an hour past they had beenstruggling on, doubting their direction, wondering dully if they werenot lost and merely drifting about in a circle. They had debated thisfiercely once, the ponies standing dejectedly, tails to the storm, Nebarguing that the wind still blew from the south, and Keith contendingit had shifted into the westward. The white man won his way, and theystaggered on uncertain, the negro grasping the first pony's tail to keepfrom being separated from his companion. Some instinct of the plainsmust have guided them, for at last they dragged themselves out from thedesert, the crunching sand under foot changing into rock, and then toshort brittle grass, at which the ponies nibbled eagerly. The slope ledgradually downward, the animals scenting water, and struggling to breakaway. Swaying in their saddles, the riders let them go, and they neverstopped until belly deep in the stream, their noses buried. Themen shivered in their saddles, until, at last satisfied, the poniesconsented to be forced back up the bank, where they nibbled at the shorttufts of herbage, but in a manner expressive of weariness. Keith flunghimself on the ground, every muscle of his body aching, his exposedflesh still smarting from the hail of sand through which they hadpassed.

  He had not the slightest conception as to where they were, excepthe knew this must be the Salt Fork. Utterly confused by the mazeof shifting dunes, through whose intricacies they had somehow foundpassage, the blackness of the night yielded no clue as to their pointof emergence. The volume of water in the stream alone suggested that intheir wanderings they must have drifted to the eastward, and come outmuch lower down than had been originally intended. If so, then theymight be almost directly south of Carson City, and in a section withwhich he was totally unacquainted. One thing was, however, certain--theywould be compelled to wait for daylight to ascertain the truth, anddecide upon their future movements. There was another barren, sandystretch of desolation lying between this isolated valley and that ofthe Canadian, and their horses would never stand to be pushed forwardwithout both rest and food. As to themselves--they had eaten theirlast crumb long since, but this was not the first time both had knownstarvation.

  Keith arose reluctantly, and removed the saddles from the animals,hobbling them so they could graze at will. Neb was propped up beneathan out-cropping of the bank, which partly protected him from the wind, amere hulk of a shadow. Keith could not tell whether he slept or not, butmade no effort to disturb him. A moment he stared vacantly about intothe black silence, and then lay down, pillowing his head upon a saddle.He found it impossible to sleep, the chill of the wind causing him toturn and twist, in vain search after comfort, while unappeased hungergnawed incessantly. His eyes ranged about over the dull gloom of theskies until they fell again to the earth level, and then he suddenly satup, half believing himself in a dream--down the stream, how far awayhe could not judge, there gleamed a steady, yellowish light. It was noflicker of a camp fire, yet remained stationary. Surely no star could beso low and large; nor did he recall any with that peculiarity of color.If such a miracle was possible in the heart of that sandy desert hewould have sworn it was a lamp shining through a window. But he hadnever heard of any settler on the Salt Fork, and almost laughed at thethought, believing for the instant his brain play
ed him some elfishtrick. Yet that light was no illusion; he rubbed his eyes, only to seeit more clearly, convinced now of its reality. He strode hastily across,and shook Neb into semi-consciousness, dragging him bodily up the bankand pointing down stream.

  "Do you see that?" he inquired anxiously. "There, straight ahead ofyou?"

  The negro stared, shaking with cold, and scarcely able to stand alone.

  "Maybe it am de moon, Massa Jack," he muttered thickly, "or a goblin'slantern. Lawd, I don't jest like de looks ob dat ting."

  "Well, I do," and Keith laughed uneasily at the negro's fears. "All Iwanted to know was if you saw what I saw. That's a lamp shining througha window, Neb. What in heaven's name it can be doing here I am unable toguess, but I'm going to find out. It means shelter and food, boy, evenif we have to fight for it. Come on, the horses are safe, and we'lldiscover what is behind that light yonder."

  Chapter VIII. The Wilderness Cabin