The Lone Ranch by Mayne Reid (books to read to increase intelligence TXT) 📖

While the Rangers are preparing for their Homeric repast, a group gathered in front of the jacal is occupied with an affair altogether different.

The individuals most conspicuous in it are the Texan captain, the guide Cully, Walt Wilder, and the young Kentuckian, though several besides take part in the conference.

Two others are concerned in it, though not forming figures in the group. They are some paces apart, lying on the grass, both bound. These are the traitor Manuel and the renegade Barbato.

Both Indian and Mexican appear terribly cowed and crestfallen, for both feel themselves in what Cully or Walt Wilder would call a “bad fix.” They are, in truth, in a dangerous predicament; for, now that Walt and the Kentuckian have turned up alive, what with the story they have to tell, added to that already known to the Rangers—comparing notes between the two parties—new light is let in, floods of it, falling upon spots hitherto dark, and clearing up points confused and obscure. The two culprits are again cross-examined, and, with pistols held to their heads, forced to still further confession.

The peon repeats what he has already told, without adding much, not having much to add. With the renegade it is different. He has kept much back concerning the part played by Uraga and his lieutenant in the affair of the destroyed waggon train.

But with Hamersley, who speaks his own native tongue, now cross-questioning him, and Walt Wilder to extract his testimony by the persuasive influence of a knife-blade glistening in his eyes, he goes further, and admits the unnatural confederation that existed between the white and red robbers—the Mexican colonel and Comanche chief. In short, to save his life, he makes a much cleaner breast of it than before, this time only keeping back his own special guiltiness in being their willing go-between.

While he is repeating his confession, all the other Rangers gather around the group to listen to him. They stand silent, with bated breath and brows contracted.

When at length they become possessed of the tale in all its diabolical atrocity, all its completeness, their anger, already excited, become almost ungovernable; and it is as much as their captain can do to restrain them from at once starting in pursuit. Some fling their spits in the fire with the meat upon them still untouched; others drop the pieces roasted and partly eaten; most demanding to be led on.

The counsels of the more prudent prevail; and again tranquillised, they recover the morsels of meat and continue their repast.

Not long, till they have reason to regret the delay and deem the prudence misplaced. Though this arises not from any mistake on the part of their counsellors, but from a circumstance entirely accidental.

While they are still in the midst of their meal, the sky, all day long of cerulean clearness, becomes suddenly clouded. Not as this term is understood in the ordinary sense, but absolutely black, as if the sun were instantly eclipsed, or had dropped altogether out of the firmament. Scarce ten minutes after its commencement the obscurity has reached completeness—that of a total solar eclipse or as in a starless night.

Though troubled at the change, none of the Rangers are dismayed by it, or even surprised. The old prairie men are the least astonished, since they know what it means. At the first portentous sign Cully is heard crying out,—

“A hurricane!—A norther!”

Wat Wilder has observed it at the same time, and confirms the prognostic. This is before any of the others have noticed aught peculiar in the aspect of the sky, and when there is just the selvedge of a cloud seen above the cliff.

All Texans understand the significance of the word “norther”—a storm or tornado, usually preceded by a hot, stifling atmosphere, with drifting dust, accompanied by sheet or forked lightning and claps of terrific thunder, followed by wind and rain, sometimes hail or sleet, as if the sluices of heaven were drawn open, ending in a continued blast of more regular direction, but chill as though coming direct from the Arctic regions.

In less than ten minutes after its first sign, the tempest is around them. Down into the valley pours the dust, swept from the surface of the upper plain, along with it the leaves and stalks of the wild wormwood, with other weeds of the desert. Simultaneously the wind, at first in low sighs, like the sound of a distant sea; then roaring against the rocks, and swooping down among the trees, whose branches go crashing before its blast. Then succeed lightning, thunder, and rain—the last falling, not in drops, but in sheets, as if spilled from a spout.

For shelter the Rangers rush inside the ranche, leaving their horses to take care of themselves. The latter stand cowering under the trees, neighing with affright—the mules among them giving vent to their plaintive hinney. There are dogs, too, that howl and bark, with other sounds that come from farther off—from the wild denizens of the wilderness; cries of the cougar in contralto, wolf-barkings in mezzo-soprano, screaming of eagles in shrill treble, snorting of bears in basso, and hooting of scared owls in lugubrious tone, to be likened only to the wailing of agonised spirits in Purgatory.

Crowded within the hut, so thickly as to have scarce standing room, the Rangers wait for the calming of the tempest. They submit with greater resignation, knowing it will not long continue. It is far from being their first experience of a “norther.”

The only thought that troubles them is the delay—being hindered from setting forth on the pursuit. True, the party to be pursued will be stayed by the same obstruction. The soldiers will have to halt during the continuance of the storm, so that the distance between will remain the same.

But then their tracks will be obliterated—every vestige of them. The wind, the rain, and dust will do this. How is their trail to be taken up? “That will be easy enough,” says one, whose self-esteem is greater than his prairie experience. He adds: “As they’re going due west, we can’t make any mistake by steering the same way.”

“How little he knows about it!” is the muttered remark exchanged between Wilder and Cully. For they know that the deflection of a single point upon the prairies—above all, upon the Staked Plain—will leave the traveller, like a ship at sea without chart or compass, to steer by guesswork, or go drifting at sheer chance.

To most, the consoling thought is that the Mexicans will halt near, and stay till the storm is over. They have some baggage—a tent or two, with other camp equipage. This is learnt from the Indian; and Hamersley, as also Wilder, have themselves made note of it.

To the returning soldiers there can be no great reason for haste, and they will not likely resume their march till the sky is quite clear. Therefore they will gain nothing in distance.

Satisfied by such assurance given by the sager ones of the party, the Rangers remain inside the hut, on the roof of which the rain dashes down, without experiencing any keen pangs of impatience. Some of them even jest—their