by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER X. THE CHINOOK
One night in late March a sullen, faraway roar awakened Thurston inhis bunk. He turned over and listened, wondering what on earth was thematter. More than anything it sounded like a hurrying freight train onlythe railroad lay many miles to the north, and trains do not run at largeover the prairie. Gene snored peacefully an arm's length away. Outsidethe snow lay deep on the levels, while in the hollows were great, whitedrifts that at bedtime had glittered frostily in the moonlight. On thehill-tops the gray wolves howled across coulees to their neighbors, andslinking coyotes yapped foolishly at the moon.
Thurston drew the blanket up over his ears, for the fire had died to aheap of whitening embers and the cold of the cabin made the nose ofhim tingle. The roar grew louder and nearer-then the cabin shivered andcreaked in the suddenness of the blast that struck it. A clod of dirtplumbed down upon his shoulder, bringing with it a shower of finerparticles. "Another blizzard!" he groaned, "and the worst we've had yet,by the sound."
The wind shrieked down the chimney and sought the places where thechinking was loose. It howled up the coulees, putting the wolvesthemselves to shame. Gene flopped over like a newly landed fish, gruntedsome unintelligible words and slept again.
For an hour Thurston lay and listened to the blast and selfishly thankedheaven it was his turn at the cooking. If the storm kept up like that,he told himself, he was glad he did not have to chop the wood. Helifted the blanket and sniffed tentatively, then cuddled back into coverswearing that a thermometer would register zero at that very moment onhis pillow.
The storm came in gusts as the worst blizzards do at times. It made himthink of the nursery story about the fifth little pig who built a cabinof rocks, and how the wolf threatened: "I'll huff and I'll puff, andI'll blow your house down!" It was as if he himself were the fifthlittle pig, and as if the wind were the wolf. The wolf-wind would stopfor whole minutes, gather his great lungs full of air and then withoutwarning would "huff and puff" his hardest. But though the cabin wasnot built of rocks, it was nevertheless a staunch little shelter andsturdily withstood the shocks.
He pitied the poor cattle still fighting famine and frost as onlyrange-bred stock can fight. He pictured them drifting miserably beforethe fury of the wind or crowding for shelter under some friendlycutback, their tails to the storm, waiting stolidly for the dawn thatwould bring no relief. Then, with the roar and rattle in his ears, hefell asleep.
In that particular line-camp on the Missouri the cook's duties beganwith building a fire in the morning. Thurston waked reluctantly,shivered in anticipation under the blankets, gathered together hisfortitude and crept out of his bunk. While he was dressing his teethchattered like castanets in a minstrel show. He lighted the firehurriedly and stood backed close before it, listening to the rage of thewind. He was growing very tired of the monotony of winter; he could nolonger see any beauty in the high-turreted, snow-clad hills, nor thebare, red faces of the cliffs frowning down upon him.
"I don't suppose you could see to the river bank," he mused, "and Genewill certainly tear the third commandment to shreds before he gets thewater-hole open."
He went over to the window, meaning to scratch a peep-hole in the frost,just as he had done every day for the past three months; lifted a hand,then stopped bewildered. For instead of frost there was only steam withridges of ice yet clinging to the sash and dripping water in a tinyrivulet. He wiped the steam hastily away with his palm and looked out.
"Good heavens, Gene!" he shouted in a voice to wake the Seven Sleepers."The world's gone mad overnight. Are you dead, man? Get up and look out.The whole damn country is running water, and the hills are bare as thisfloor!"
"Uh-huh!" Gene knuckled his eyes and sat up. "Chinook struck us in thenight. Didn't yuh hear it?"
Thurston pulled open the door and stood face to face with the miracle ofthe West. He had seen Mother Nature in many a changeful mood, but neverlike this. The wind blew warm from the southwest and carried hints ofgreen things growing and the song of birds; he breathed it gratefullyinto his lungs and let it riot in his hair. The sky was purplish andsoft, with heavy, drifting clouds high-piled like a summer storm. Itlooked like rain, he thought.
The bare hills were sodden with snow-water, and the drifts in thecoulees were dirt-grimed and forbidding. The great river lay, a graystretch of water-soaked snow over the ice, with little, clear poolsreflecting the drab clouds above. A crow flapped lazily across theforeground and perched like a blot of fresh-spilled ink on the top of adead cottonwood and cawed raucous greeting to the spring.
The wonder of it dazed Thurston and made him do unusual things thatmorning. All winter he had been puffed with pride over his cooking, butnow he scorched the oatmeal, let the coffee boil over, and blackened thebacon, and committed divers other grievous sins against Gene's clamoringappetite. Nor did he feel the shame that he should have felt. He simplycould not stay in the cabin five minutes at a time, and for it he had noapology.
After breakfast he left the dishes un-washed upon the table and went outand made merry with nature. He could scarce believe that yesterday hehad frosted his left ear while he brought a bucket of water up from theriver, and that it had made his lungs ache to breathe the chill air. Nowthe path to the river was black and dry and steamed with warmth. Acrossthe water cattle were feeding greedily upon the brown grasses that onlya few hours before had been locked away under a crust of frozen snow.
"They won't starve now," he exulted, pointing them out to Gene.
"No, you bet not!" Gene answered. "If this don't freeze up on us thewagons 'll be starting in a month or so. I guess we can be thinkingabout hitting the trail for home pretty soon now. The river'll break upif this keeps going a week. Say, this is out uh sight! It's warmer outuh doors than it is in the house. Darn the old shack, anyway! I'm plumbsick uh the sight of it. It looked all right to me in a blizzard, butnow--it's me for the range, m'son." He went off to the stable with long,swinging strides that matched all nature for gladness, singing cheerily:
"So polish up your saddles, oil your slickers and your guns, For we're hound for Lonesome Prairie when the green grass comes."