CHAPTER V
HOW DICK BROUGHT THE NEWS
"You ran it rather too close, Dick," said the professor, with a shake ofhis head, when we had told him the story of our race with the storm. "Iwas beginning to be afraid; not so much for you as for your companion:it was too big an undertaking for him, considering that it was his firstday in the mountains; even leaving out the risk of the snow-storm."
"I'm afraid I was thoughtless," replied Dick, penitently; "especially innot looking out for a change of weather. It did run us too close, as yousay--a great deal too close. But there is one thing I can do, anyhow, torepair that error to some extent, and I'll be off at once and do it."
So saying, Dick, who by this time had finished his supper, jumped out ofhis chair and began putting on his overcoat.
"Where are you off to, Dick?" I exclaimed. "Not going out againto-night?"
"Only a little way," replied Dick. "Down to the town to let your uncleknow that you are all safe. He'll be pretty anxious, I expect."
I had thought of that, but I could see no way of getting over it. Icould not go myself, for even if I had dared to venture I had not thestrength for it, and of course I could not expect any one else to do itfor me. My first thought, therefore, when Dick announced that he wasgoing, was one of satisfaction; though my next thought, following veryquickly upon the first one, was to protest against his doing any suchthing.
"No, no, Dick," I cried, "it's too risky--you mustn't! Uncle Tom will beworried, I know, but he will conclude that I am staying the night withyou. And though I should be glad to have his mind relieved, I don'tconsider--and he would say the same, I'm pretty sure--that that is agood enough reason for you to take such a risk."
"Thanks, old chap," replied Dick; "but it isn't so much of a risk as youthink. Going down wind to the town is a very different matter fromcoming down that rough mountain with the storm beating on us from everyside. I've been over the trail a thousand times, and I believe I couldfollow it with my eyes shut; and, anyhow, to lose your way is prettynear impossible, you know, with the canon on your right hand and themountain on your left. So, don't you worry yourself, Frank: I'll beunder cover again in an hour or less."
Seeing that the professor nodded approval, I protested no more, though Istill had my doubts about letting him go.
"Well, Dick," said I, "it's mighty good of you. I wish I could go, too,but that is out of the question, I'm afraid: I should only hamper you ifI tried. I can tell you one thing, anyhow: Uncle Tom will appreciateit--you may be sure of that."
In this I was right, though I little suspected at the moment in whatform his appreciation was to show itself. As a matter of fact, Dick'saction in braving the storm a second time that evening was to be aturning-point in his fortune and mine.
"Good-night, Frank," said he. "I'll be back again in the morning, Iexpect. Hope you'll sleep as well in my bed as I intend to do in yours.Good-night."
So saying, Dick, this time overcoated, gloved and ear-capped, opened thedoor and stepped out. Watching him from the window, I saw him stridingoff down wind, to be lost to sight in ten seconds in the maze of drivingsnow.
"Are you sure it's all right, Professor?" said I, anxiously. "There'stime yet to call him back."
"It is all right," replied my host, reassuringly. "You need not fear.Dick has been out in many a storm before, and he knows very well how totake care of himself. You may be sure I would not let him go if Ithought it were not all right. And now, I think, it would be well if youtook possession of Dick's bed. You have had a very hard day and need agood long rest."
To this I made no objection, and early though it was, I was asleep infive minutes, too tired to be disturbed even by the insistent bangingand howling of the storm outside.
Meanwhile, Uncle Tom, down in the town, was, as I had suspected,fretting and fuming and worrying himself in his uncertainty as towhether I was safe under cover or not.
The storm had taken the town by surprise, for the morning had openedgloriously, clear and sharp and still, as it had done every day for amonth past, and most people naturally supposed there was to be anotherday as fine as those which had gone before; little suspecting that thenorth wind, up there among the icebound peaks and gorges of the motherrange, was at that moment marshaling its forces for a mad rush down intothe valley.
And how should they suspect? Of the three hundred people comprising thepopulation, not one, not even old Jeff Andrews himself, the patriarch ofthe district, had spent more than two winters in the camp. In the yearof its founding there were about a dozen men and no women who had bravedthe hardships of the first winter, but as the fame of the new campextended to the outer world, other people began to come in, slowly atfirst and then in larger numbers, so that by this time the populationnumbered, as I said, about three hundred souls, including twenty-onewomen and two babies; while at a rough guess I should say there wasabout two-thirds of a dog to each citizen, counting in the twelvechildren of school age and the two babies as well.
These dogs, by the way, were the chief source of entertainment in thetown, for during the hours of daylight there was always a fight going onsomewhere, while at night most of them, especially the younger ones,used to sit out in the middle of the street barking defiance at thecoyotes, which, from the hills all round, howled back at them inunceasing chorus. This part of the programme was changed, however, laterin the winter, for one half-cloudy night the blacksmith's long-leggedshepherd pup, seated in front of the forge door, was barking himselfhoarse at the moon when a big timber-wolf came slipping down out of thewoods and finished the puppy's song and his existence with one snap.After this the other dogs were more careful about the hours they kept.
But to return to the human part of the population. Considering how fewof them had spent a winter in this high valley; remembering that everyone of the grown-up citizens had been born in some other State, and thatthe very great majority were newcomers in Colorado, it is not to bewondered at that the storm should have caught them unawares. For, inColorado, if there is one thing almost impossible to forecast it is theweather, especially in the mountains where it is made, where thesnow-storms and the thunder-storms, brewing in secret behind the peaks,bounce out on you before you know it.
So, on this sunshiny morning, most people went about their usualoccupations unsuspicious of evil; it was only the few old-timers whodivined what was coming, and their little precautions, such as shuttingtheir doors and windows before leaving the house, merely excited a smileor a word of chaff from the "plum-sure" newcomers. For it is always thenew arrival who thinks he can predict the weather; the old-stager,having had experience enough to be aware that he knows nothing about itfor certain, can seldom be persuaded to venture a decided opinion.
Tied to a hitching-post outside the assayer's door that afternoon weretwo ponies, and about two o'clock Mr. Warren, himself, and Uncle Tom,issued from the house, prepared for their ride up on Cape Horn--a big,bare mountain lying southeast of town. As they stepped down from theporch, however, Warren happened to notice old Jeff Andrews walking upthe street, carrying over his shoulder a great buffalo-skin overcoat,which, considering the warmth of the day, seemed rather out of place.
"Hallo, Jeff!" the assayer called out. "What are you carrying that thingfor? Are we going to have a change?"
Jeff, a gray-bearded, round-shouldered man of sixty, with a face burntall of one color by years of life in the open, paused for a momentbefore replying, and then, knowing that the assayer was not one of those"guying tenderfeet," for whom, as he expressed it, "he had no manner ofuse," he answered genially:
"Well, gents, I ain't no weather prophet--I'll leave that business tothe latest arrival--but I have my suspicions. Just look up overhead."
The old man had detected the hurrying snowflakes passing across the faceof the sun, and though to Uncle Tom there was nothing unusual to beseen, the assayer understood the signs.
"Wind, Jeff?" said he.
"And snow," replied the old prospector. "Was you going to ri
de up onCape Horn this evening, Mr. Warren? Well, if I was you, I wouldn't. CapeHorn lies south o' here, and if a storm from the north catches you upthere on that bare mountain you may not be able to work your way backagain. If I was you, I'd put the ponies back in the stable and lay lowfor a spell."
"Thank you, Jeff," responded the assayer. "I believe that's a good idea.I think we shall do well, Tom, to postpone our trip. No use running therisk of being caught out in a blizzard: it's a bit too dangerous to suitme."
The ponies, therefore, were taken back to the stable and the two men,returning to the house, sat down on the sunny porch to awaitdevelopments.
The snow-cloud was already half way down the range and it was not longere the murmur of the wind among the distant trees began to make itselfheard, giving warning of what was coming to a few of the more observantpeople.
"It looks pretty threatening, Sam," said Uncle Tom. "I don't like theway that cloud comes creeping down. I hope those boys will notice it intime."
"I don't think you need worry about them," replied the assayer. "YoungDick is well able to take care of himself. He knows the signs as well asanybody."
"Well, I hope he'll notice them in time. Going indoors, are you?"
"Yes; if you don't mind, I'll leave you for the present. I have somework I want to finish up. Let me know when it comes pretty close so thatI may get my windows shut. It will come with a 'whoop' when it doescome."
As the assayer rose to his feet, he observed across the street theproprietor of the corner grocery standing in his doorway with his handsin his pockets.
"Hallo, Jackson!" he called out. "You'd better take in those loose boxesfrom the sidewalk if you want to save them: there's a big blow comingpretty soon."
"Oh, I guess not," replied the grocer, a fat-faced, self-satisfied man,one of those "dead-sure weather prophets" for whom old Jeff felt suchsupreme contempt. "I reckon I'll chance it."
He cast a glance skyward, and deceived by the sparkling brilliancy ofthe sun, he added under his breath, "Big blow! As if any one couldn'tsee with half an eye that there isn't a sign of wind in the sky."
"All right, Jackson, suit yourself," replied Warren; adding on his part,as an aside to Uncle Tom, "He'll change his mind in about half an hour,if I'm not mistaken."
For about that length of time Uncle Tom continued to sit on the porchwatching the approaching cloud and listening to the increasing murmur ofthe wind, when, on the crown of a high ridge about a mile above town hesaw all the pine trees with one accord suddenly bend their heads towardhim, as though making him a stately obeisance.
Springing out of his chair, Uncle Tom bolted into the house, slammingthe door behind him and calling out: "Here it comes, Sam! Here itcomes!"
It did. The roar of its approach was now plainly audible; there was ahurrying and scurrying of men and women, a banging of doors and aslamming down of windows; even the incredulous grocer, convinced atlast, made a dive for his loose boxes--but just too late.
With a shriek, as of triumph at catching them all unprepared, the windcame raging down the street, making a clean sweep of everything. A youngmining camp is not as a rule over-particular about the amount of rubbishthat encumbers its streets, and Mosby was no exception to the rule, butin five minutes it was swept as clean as though the twenty-onehousewives had been at work on it for a week with broom andscrubbing-brush.
Heralded by a cloud of mingled dust and snow, a whole covey of paperscraps, loose straw and a few hats, went whirling down the street,followed by a dozen or two of empty tin cans, while behind them, withinfinite clatter, came three lengths of stove-pipe from the bakerychimney, closely pursued by an immense barrel which had once containedcrockery.
As though enjoying the fun, this barrel came bounding down the roadway,making astonishing leaps, until, at the grocery corner, it encounteredthe only one of the empty boxes which had not already gone south, andglancing off at an angle, went bang through the show window!
It was as though My Lord, the North Wind, aware of Mr. Jackson'sincredulity, had sent an emissary to convince him that he _did_ intendto blow that day.
From that moment the wind and the snow had it all their own way; not acitizen dared to show his nose outside.
It was an uneasy day for Uncle Tom. Knowing full well the extreme dangerof being caught on the mountain in such a storm, he could not helpfeeling anxious for our safety, and though his host tried to reassurehim by repeating his confidence in Dick Stanley's good sense andexperience, he grew more and more fidgety as the day wore on anddarkness began to settle down upon the town.
In fact, by sunset, Uncle Tom had worked himself up to a high state ofnervousness. He kept pacing up and down the room like a caged beast,unconsciously puffing at a cigar which had gone out half an hour before;then striding to the window to look out--a disheartening prospect, fornot even the corner grocery was visible now. Then back he would come,plump himself into his chair before the fire, only to jump up again infifteen seconds to go through the same performance once more.
At length he flung his cigar-stump into the fire, and turning to hisfriend, exclaimed:
"Sam, I can't stand this uncertainty any longer. I'm going out to see ifI can't find somebody who will undertake to go up to the professor'shouse and back for twenty dollars, just to make sure those boys have gotsafe home. I'd go myself, only I know I should never get there."
The assayer shook his head.
"No use, Tom," said he. "You couldn't get one to go; at least, not formoney. If it were to dig a friend out of the snow you could raise ahundred men in a minute; but for money--no. I don't believe you couldget any of them to face this storm for twenty dollars--or fifty, either.They would say, 'What's the use? If the boys are in, they're in; ifthey're not----'"
"Well, if they're not---- What? I know what you mean. You chill me allthrough, Sam, with your 'ifs.' Look here, old man, isn't there _anybody_who would go? Think, man, think!"
"We might try little Aleck Smith, the teamster," said the assayer,thoughtfully. "He's as tough as a bit of bailing-wire and plum full ofgrit. We'll try him anyhow. Come on. I'll go with you. It's only sixhouses down. Jump into your overcoat, old man!"
The two men turned to get their coats, when, at that moment, there camea thump upon the porch outside, as though somebody had jumped up the twosteps at a bound, the door burst open and in the midst of a whirl ofsnow there was blown into the room the muffled, snow-coated figure of aboy, who, slamming the door behind him, leaned back against it, gaspingfor breath.
The men stared in astonishment, until the boy, pulling off his cap,revealed the face, scarlet from exposure, of Dick Stanley.
"Why, Dick!" cried the assayer. "What's the matter? Where's youngFrank?"
"All safe, sir! Safe in our house, and in bed and asleep by this time."
"And did you come down through this howling storm to tell me?" criedUncle Tom.
"Yes, sir. But that wasn't anything so very much, you know: it wasdown-hill and downwind, too."
"Well, you may think what you like about it--but so may I, too; and myopinion is that there isn't another boy in the country would have doneit. I shan't forget your service, Dick. You may count on that. I shan'tforget it!"
Nor did he--as you will see.