by Zane Grey
They made fast time all morning, considering the loads, and by noon were twenty miles out. And Laramie’s practiced eye began to note the lessening numbers of black dots on the prairie. Cattle were thinning out. But it was a vast country, with enough swales and draws and river bottoms to hide a million cattle. A pale sun shone after a while, making the ride less raw and giving the landscape something of brightness. Coyotes and deer and antelope fell under Laramie’s keen eye for distance, and once he espied a group of dark riders, far off, topping a ridge against the sky. Such sights always led to speculation. He had made inquiries about the road, the water, the grass, the wood, and the settlers. But of the last he had not observed much sign, and none during the last two hours.
About mid-afternoon, from the top of a hill which had taken an hour to climb, Laramie espied a wooded stream-bed some few miles on and downgrade. He rode ahead.
“How yu makin’ it, Neale?” he asked, as he rode by.
“Fine. But my arms are most pulled out,” shouted the lad, gaily.
“Hang on. We’re most in camp.”
Passing Lonesome’s wagon, he was accosted by Lenta: “Hey, cow-puncher, where you been all day?”
“Taggin’ along, lass. How yu ridin’?”
“I’ve been driving the team.”
“Wal! … An’ yu, Miss Hallie—how about yu?”
“Me? Oh, I’m scared, happy, weary, hungry—altogether enchanted,” replied Harriet.
Lindsay could not be seen. No doubt he was lying down under the canvas of his wagon. Tracks looked as if he had driven a chariot all day. Florence had a flushed face and bright eyes. Mrs. Lindsay was asleep on the seat.
“Step out, Wing, old boy,” called Laramie, and loped down the winding road to the river bottom. It was a wide valley, grassy and thicketed, with groves of trees here and there, and running water. He required far more time than usual to select a camp site, and at length, up toward the head of the stream, where the valley notched, he found a most desirable spot, yet still close to the road. He sat his horse a while, meditatively, until he remembered where he was, and then dismounting, he soon had Wingfoot free to roll and drink and graze. Then he went out to the road to wait for the caravan. They soon reached him, all in a bunch, horses as glad as the travelers for the prospective halt.
“Turn off heah under the trees,” he shouted, waving a hand, and when the drivers reached the desired spot and halted, Laramie gave his further orders.
“Unhitch, water the hawses an’ hobble them. Jud, get busy an’ send two men to cut firewood. Lonesome, yu an’ Tracks haul out the tents an’ beddin’. Neale, lend a hand if yu ain’t daid. Rest of yu get off an’ come in.”
Laramie swung an ax with avidity that afternoon, pausing now and then to attend amusedly to the several Lindsays limping around. Presently Lenta ran to him.
“Oh, Laramie,” she called, before she got to him. “Come. I’m afraid Lonesome an’ Tracks will kill each other.”
“What about?” asked Laramie, mildly.
“About how to put up our tent.”
“Wal, I’ll come along. Lug thet chunk of firewood, lass. Yu may as wal begin now.”
“You bet,” declared the girl, and little as she was she lifted the heavy block with ease. “I’m having the time of my life.”
When Laramie gazed down upon his two partners he realized that their heated faces were not proof of his suspicions that they were showing off before the girls, but really because they disagreed about how the tent should be put up. It was a new-fangled complicated affair.
“Wal, I shore don’t see how yu boys have gall enough to figger on ranches, wives, children, an’ all such when yu cain’t put up a simple tent,” drawled Laramie.
This effectually squelched them, with the result that they soon got the tangled canvas straightened out. Laramie built a sparkling fire against a cottonwood stump near at hand, and went to fetch a bucket of water and basins. Also he appropriated a stewpot from Jud’s kit to heat water in. Then he helped the boys put up two more tents.
“Dig up the beddin’, Lonesome, while I fetch a bundle of grass or ferns. Thet ground is damp an’ hard.”
“There’s a dozen or more tarps,” interposed Tracks.
“Thet’s so. Ted, yu do have an idee once in a while,” drawled Laramie, and in lower voice. “Shore surprises me, seein’ yu so bad in love.”
“You stone-hearted gun-thrower!” flashed Williams. “I hope and bet you get it so bad you’ll nearly die.”
“What! Me? … Wal, if I got it atall I’d die shore enough.”
When these three tents were ready and the particular bags the girls needed were unpacked, Laramie went on down the line of wagons. Neale, to do him credit, had elected to sleep under a cottonwood and had unrolled his tarpaulin there. Mr. Lindsay and his wife were to occupy one of the covered wagons. Jud Lawrence, with his helpers, were busy about two fires. And about dusk the cook yelled out in lusty voice, “Come an’ get it before I throw it out!”
“What on earth does he mean by that?” asked Mrs. Lindsay, in amaze. The younger girls made laughing conjectures, while Harriet asked Laramie if it had not something to do with supper.
“Wal, yu can take thet literal, Miss Hallie,” replied Laramie.
Whereupon the girls ran merrily to the chuck-wagon, near where Jud had spread a tarpaulin, with packs, boxes and bags for seats. They made a merry and a hearty meal, and were loud in the praises of the cook. No doubt Jud had planned to establish a reputation with this first meal.
Laramie, with his riders, and the other men, were served next, and ate standing or squatting after the manner of range-riders. And as usual they were too hungry to be very talkative.
“Wal, fellows, we’re in for weather by mawnin’, I reckon,” said Laramie.
“Feels like snow. But mebbe it’ll hold off. Hope so. Wood powerful scarce tomorrow an’ next day.”
“Tie up some bundles heah while we can get it dry.”
Lonesome and Tracks evinced a desire to linger about the camp fire of the Lindsays, leaving Laramie to have a look at their horses. This first night, at least, Laramie was glad to see, was a comfortable and absorbing one for the Easterners.
“Hey, yu-all,” he called, when he had returned from his tasks. “Better roll in. Yu won’t feel so powerful awake about five in the mawnin’.”
But he did not impress either the Lindsays or his two bewitched partners. Laramie unrolled his bed under a wagon and crawled into it, conscious of both familiar and disturbing sensations. He was glad to be out on the range again, and particularly with a prospect of a permanent job. Sleep did not come as readily as usual. Soon his old wild comrades of many a lonely night encompassed the camp—the coyotes—and began their hue and cry. He heard Lenta Lindsay call out: “Listen to those awful yelping dogs. I didn’t see any dogs with us. Where’d they come from?”
“Wild dogs of the plains, miss,” replied Lonesome.
“Wild! … Are they dangerous?”
“Not so very much. But in winter they eat you alive.”
Mrs. Lindsay screamed at that, and the girls uttered dismayed exclamations.
“Coyotes is what they’re called,” said Ted Williams. “Perfectly harmless except in case one happens to have hydrophobia.”
“Oh, what have we come to!” ejaculated Mrs. Lindsay, in distress. “Uggh! They curdle my blood. How can we sleep?”
“Upper Sandusky wouldn’t be so bad just now,” admitted Lenta. “Might not those beasts crawl in our tents?”
“They might. But we’ll make our beds in front, so they’ll have to go over our dead bodies ——”
At this point Laramie fell asleep. He did not awaken until he heard the ring of Jud’s ax on hard wood. Dawn was pale gray in the east. Thick gloom hung over the camp. Laramie pulled on his boots. His first move was to stalk over to where Lonesome and Tracks lay wrapped in slumber. Tracks was always easy to awaken, but Lonesome slept hard and he hated to be roused, and if that was
done rudely he roared like a mad bull. Laramie pretended to stumble over him and did fall upon him. Lonesome, of course, awoke bewildered and forgot where he was. He yelled murder, stampede, redskins, and then launched upon a volley of range profanity. Tracks, careful to keep out of reach, leaned down to whisper hoarsely: “Cheese it. The girls will hear you.”
“Huh!”
Laramie beat a retreat. The girls had heard something, for as he passed their tent he heard whispers and titters. Laramie could not resist the temptation to stoop behind the nearest tent and scratch upon it.
“Mercy! Hallie, listen!— What’s that?”
“Sounds like a beast of some kind. I suspect it’s a two-legged one…. Let’s get up.”
“In this pitch dark? Not much.”
Laramie stole away silently and from a safe distance called out: “Breakfast in half an hour. Pile out. It’s mawnin’.”
Daylight came pale and cold, with a raw wind. Laramie did not need to hurry the men, as everybody wanted to be on the move before the rain began. But the storm held off and the journey began under a dark lowering sky. Driving or riding was no fun that day. Young Neale lagged behind most of the time thus keeping Laramie in the rear. When they came to a hill Laramie got off.
“Yu walk a bit an’ lead my hawse,” he suggested to Neale. “Thet’ll warm yu up. But don’t get gay an’ try to ride him.”
That slope was long. From the next summit Laramie saw the country was getting more rugged, and during a brighter interval, when the clouds broke, he noticed dim mountains to the west. Grass was good only in spots. Laramie decided that the cavalcade would not make the camp he had wanted to reach, and that he would do well to find any place possible. Late in the afternoon the leading teamster waited for the others to come up, anticipating Laramie’s judgment. A rather deep swale furnished shelter from wind, fairly good water, but scant grass and no wood. So camp was made. The wood hauled on the wagons had to be conserved for Jud’s cook fire, around which the Lindsays huddled, rather silent and subdued. Lenta kept up her spirits. It was significant that they all went to bed before darkness really set in.
Sometime in the night Laramie was awakened by cold rain on his face. “Wal, too bad! We’re shore in for it. Why couldn’t we have had fine sparklin’ weather?”
Morning came cold and wet under a gray-blanketed sky. The teamsters and riders tramped around with pancakes of gray mud on their feet. It was funny to see the Lindsays troop to breakfast, bundled up in heavy coats and slickers. Mr. Lindsay, however, did not leave the shelter of his canvas wagon. “He caught cold yesterday,” explained his wife, “and I think he’d better not come out. I’ll take him some breakfast.”
“Keep him warm, ma’am,” advised Jud, solicitously. “An’ if yu need anythin’ hotter’n coffee come right heah.”
The rest of the Lindsays ate standing in the drizzling rain, trying to keep warm by the bed of sizzling coals.
“Rustle, everybody,” ordered Laramie. “We want to get along. If we cain’t pass these bottom-lands before it starts rainin’ hard we’ll lose two days an’ more. Ten miles ahaid we climb out on good road.”
Laramie had his tasks cut out for him that morning. After the first wagon bogged down in a creek-bed, Laramie took Neale’s team and the lead. They had four hours of wet, slippery, muddy, tedious travel before getting up on hard ground again. After that he had no concern, except for the welfare of the Lindsays, about whom he felt some misgivings. Mr. Lindsay was ill, Neale had given out, and the girls, according to Lonesome, were a lot of bedraggled mud-hens. Getting on and off the wagons at intervals during the morning, wading through creeks and across bottom-lands, impeded by boots and long slickers, they had but a sorry time of it. In the afternoon as the horses made fair progress on the almost imperceptible slope, wind and rain grew colder. Laramie drove on long after dark, making Laclade Grove, completing thirty miles of travel for the day. This was, according to his information, a fine camp site, from which the road to Spanish Peaks Ranch forked to the left. Three wagons rolled in close upon Laramie, the last of which was Jud’s chuck-wagon. So far as Jud was concerned, an abundance of firewood and water supplied his most urgent needs. The other wagons straggled in one by one, the occupants of which were loud in acclaim of the blazing fires. Lenta expressed the significance of the case for tenderfeet when she naively said, “I never knew how good a fire could feel.”
The rain had turned partly to snow. Laramie remarked to Jud, “Wal, if it changes into a real storm we’ll hang right heah.”
“Too late fer a blizzard, Nelson.”
“Shore, but a right pert May storm would be tough enough for these Eastern folks.”
The girls were game, but in the way of becoming pretty miserable. Laramie had a word with Lindsay. He was sick, but cheerful. That night all the Lindsays slept in the wagons, and Laramie doubted not that they had a cold and dreary time of it.
Next day Laramie’s salutation was: “Cheer up, yu-all. We’re in Colorado an’ tonight we’ll make the Peak Dot.”
“And what’s that?” asked Lenta.
“Wal, didn’t yu know? That’s the brand on yore cattle.”
“If it gets any colder I’ll be branded myself.”
“The wust is yet to come. Hang around the fire till yu’re dry an’ warm. It’ll be a tough day.”
So it proved. Laramie did not care for sleet and snow and bitter winds although he was used to them. Lonesome hated anything approaching winter. Ted did not suffer from cold. But by this time apparently he had been rendered impervious to everything save a pair of dark proud eyes.
Laramie got the outfit started early and he kept everlastingly at it. After a few hours the snow changed to rain again, and that held, with lulls at intervals. Cattle huddled in the lea of ridges. Laramie calculated that the last fifty miles of this journey had taken them up out of the plains. The road wound around the heads of deep wooded draws. For the most part, however, even at midday Laramie could not see a mile out on the range. He passed several landmarks he had been told to look out for, the last of which, gray roofless walls of an old fort, gave him the satisfaction of knowing the distance to Spanish Peaks Ranch was now a matter of only a few more miles.
But they were long ones, and piercingly cold in the driving rain. Laramie felt the lighter quality of a higher altitude and he seemed to smell the mountains. Poor Lindsays! He hoped this Allen range-outfit would be expecting them and have fires going at least, but a second thought dismissed that hope. As darkness came on he looked for lights. But there were none. And he had almost begun to fear that he had gotten off on a wrong road when a big square rough-ramparted structure loomed up before him.
Laramie halted the team. “Wal, Neale, we’re heah, I reckon,” he said, to the youth lying back of the seat.
“Here! Where? … That’s a wall of rock,” replied the weary Neale.
The restiveness of the horses excited Laramie’s attention. Wingfoot, tied behind the wagon, snorted in a way to acquaint Laramie with the presence of water. Then above the gusty wind he heard the flow of water somewhere close in the darkness. Laramie clambered off the seat, stiff from the long cold drive. Jud, who had been next to him, must be coming close. The grating sound of wheels attested to this surmise.
“Hi thar, Laramie,” called the cook. “Yu turned off the road.”
“Mebbe I did, but anyway we’re heah,” shouted Laramie, and he moved forward toward the gloomy structure. Its close proximity had been an illusion: he had to walk some paces to get to it. Rough stone met his groping hand. He felt his way along the wall toward the sound of running water, and at length reached the end of the wall. Between where he stood and the dim continuation of the wall opposite ran a brook, which soon leaped off in the darkness downhill. Laramie knew he had arrived at Spanish Peaks Ranch. But this stone fortress-like house appeared deserted. He went back.
Meanwhile Jud had driven down and the grind of more wheels and pound of hoofs sounded.
“Lar
amie, didn’t you know you turned off the road?” asked Jud, as he fumbled under the seat of his wagon.
“I shore didn’t. Case of luck. Wal, it’s about time we had some.”
“Aw, this is fine. We might had to lay out another night. Heah, I’ll have a light in a jiffy.”
When the lantern was lighted Jud swung it to signal the coming drivers. “Laramie, this heah is all right. Fine windbreak. Line the wagons close to the wall. I’ll take a look inside. Where’n hell is the outfit that was supposed to be heah?”
Laramie wondered about that, too. He walked out to meet the incoming wagons and directed the drivers where to go. Indeed, he had turned off the main road. Six wagons had passed him, leaving one more, the driver of which was Tracks Williams. As he could not yet be heard Laramie hurried back to the wagons. The drivers were unhitching the horses.
“Howdy, pard,” called out Lonesome, cheerily. “It was a rummy drive, huh? Gosh! you gotta hand it to these girls! But they’re about all in, countin’ spunk. I seen a light off to our right. It looked downhill. There’s a jump-off here, where that water tumbles down.”
“So there is. I forgot. A big draw opens heah. Barns, corrals, pastures down below, accordin’ to Buff Jones.”
“Reckon that Allen outfit must be bunked in the draw. It’s a safe bet they ain’t up here in this wind.”
Jud came back with his lantern. The yellow light showed dripping horses and wagons, the wet drivers, and the falling rain, mixed with snow.
