Across Texas

Nick now began to look for the coming of Herbert. Both paths were so easily travelled that he ought to appear in the course of twenty minutes, and a full half hour had gone by.

“I wonder whether anything could have happened to him,” said Nick, gazing down the trail in the gathering gloom, and feeling a renewal of the fears that troubled him so much in the afternoon.

He once more whistled with the power of a steam engine, and paused for the response. It was impossible, as he had learned long before, that Herbert should have made his way on horseback across the space separating the trails, and he, therefore, gave his attention to the route over which he himself had just travelled.

Nothing was to be seen of his friend, and the suspicion came to Nick that possibly he was pouting because of his mistake, but the thought was dismissed the next minute as unworthy of Herbert, who, if disposed in that direction, was in no mood to do so at the present time.

“But where can he be?” repeated Nick, recalling the preceding winter, when he went astray in the pursuit of the second moose and caused himself and Pierre Ardeau no end of worriment of mind. As the darkness increased, Nick Ribsam became aware of another discomforting fact. The wind was beginning to blow, and the cold was rapidly increasing. The norther prophesied by the Texans was at hand.

This being evident, he quickly prepared for it. He had gathered a quantity of limbs and twigs, but they were unlighted, he intending to await the arrival of his friend Herbert; but he now started the fire as quickly as possible, for, aside from its needed warmth, it would do much to dispel the gloom oppressing him.

Few who have not experienced a Texan norther can understand their fierce suddenness. I was once riding in a stage in the southern part of the State, the day was mild and balmy, and a middle-aged gentleman from New York sat in the seat with me. His overcoat was in his trunk, which was strapped at the rear of the stage. We were talking, when all at once a norther came howling across the country. My friend shouted to the driver to unstrap his trunk, so as to allow him to unlock it. The driver promptly obeyed, the gentleman leaping out of the vehicle, hastily unfastening his luggage, and bringing out the extra garment. Only a few minutes were occupied, and yet his teeth were chattering and he was shivering and blue with cold while hurriedly donning his greatcoat.

A young man in Dallas told me he was standing on the opposite side of the street in his shirt sleeves; a norther arrived; he struck diagonally for his home on a dead run; that home was less than two blocks off; he insisted that if he had been delayed on the way by so much as a fall he would have frozen to death; but, somehow or other, I think he exaggerated things.

But by the time Nick Ribsam had the fire going, he was shivering. He gathered his heavy blanket closely about him and sat down near the blaze, but was still cold. The ponies felt it. They shrunk against the rocks and wherever they could find any shelter, and looked dismal and wretched. No blankets had been provided for them, but the luggage of the entire party was at command and Nick’s sympathy led him to appropriate the articles without a moment’s hesitation. It was a kind act and did much for the comfort of the dumb beasts.

What about Strubell and Lattin? They must suffer, but they were acclimated and would find some means of warding off the full effort of the cutting winds, without the help of extra clothing.

But poor Herbert! Nick fairly gasped as he thought of him. He was in his ordinary costume, and of course had not started a fire. He would not be likely to do so, since he was on his way to join Nick and would depend on him for everything of that sort.

“Heaven save him,” prayed Nick, “but if he doesn’t arrive soon he must perish. Hurry, Herbert!” he called at the top of his voice.

In his anxiety, Nick started down the path with the extra blanket flung over his arm, while he was so swathed in his own that he resembled an Indian chief, striding along the trail.

Night had fully come, and the sky, which had been quite clear during most of the day, was overcast, so that he could see but a short distance in any direction. Still he hurried on, confident every minute that the forms of Herbert and Jill would loom to view in the darkness.

But rod after rod was passed, and they did not appear. Suddenly Nick stooped down and placed his ear against the earth.

“I hear his pony’s hoofs!” he exclaimed, raising his head and peering forward, “but why is he so long on the way?”

Applying his ear again, the startling fact was evident: the sound of the horse’s hoofs was fainter than before. The animal was receding instead of approaching.

“Something has gone wrong with the poor fellow, and what can I do to help him?”

CHAPTER XV.

CAUGHT FOUL

NICK RIBSAM was partly right in his supposition about his missing friend, Herbert Watrous.

That young gentleman rode along the lower trail, as confident as anyone could be that he was right and Nick was wrong. He did not press Jill, for the pony had done considerable hard riding during the day, but he arrived at the end of his brief journey a little in advance of the other.

“I knew it,” he said at the moment of catching sight of the pool of clear water, which, like the spring, was slightly to the right of the path; “there aren’t many brighter boys than Nick, but he makes his mistake once in a while, like other folks.”

And then, as his pony walked forward to drink, his rider gave out the signal intended to summon Nick to the spot.

“He will feel cheap when he finds he is wrong, but he is manly enough to own up to it, and admit that some folks know – ”

Sitting astride of his animal while he was helping himself to a drink, Herbert made good use of his eyes. Just then he observed that, though the pool resembled a natural spring, it was not. It was fed by a stream pouring into the upper portion, as large as that which formed the outlet, while there was no bubbling from the bottom.

“Whew!” whistled the astonished youth; “it begins to look as if it wasn’t Nick that had made a slip – hello!”

At that moment the call came ringing down from the upper trail. The matter was settled. Nick had struck the right spot, and all Herbert could do was to ride back along the path to the fork and join him.

He was on the point of starting back, when it occurred to him that it might be possible to shorten the distance by cutting across the neck of land, as talked about before they parted. The promise of being able to do so looked more encouraging from below than above.

Slipping down from the saddle, Herbert began picking his way through the rough portion, and advanced several rods before reaching a section where a horse would find the travelling difficult.

“He could make his way this far easily enough,” he said, halting and looking back, “but it doesn’t seem so easy further on.”

He advanced more carefully, for he was beginning to doubt the feasibility of the plan. It will be readily seen that while he was so uncertain as to the best course, he was consuming more time than he suspected. Night was rapidly closing in, and he was still debating what was best to do, when he noticed the increasing cold.

“It’s the norther, sure enough!” he exclaimed, starting back to mount his horse; “a little late, but it’s getting there all the same.”

In fact it “got there” with such emphasis that, before Herbert could force his way to the pool of water, lie thought he would freeze to death. There was no need of answering the signal of Nick, and, catching sight of the outlines of what seemed a mass of rocks in the darkness, he made for them, intent only on securing shelter for the moment, or until the cutting wind abated enough to allow him to venture out to recover his horse.

Meanwhile, the latter, who had had more than one previous experience with northers, was trying to help himself somewhat after the same fashion as his master. Since the arctic breath from the distant Rocky Mountains came from the north, Jill began edging away from it by taking the back trail, just as cattle drift before a long continued and violent storm of sleet and snow.

It must not be supposed that the pony held any purpose of deserting his master. He had never tried to do anything of the kind, and it would be injustice to accuse him in the present instance; but the instinct of self-preservation was as strong in him as in any other animal, and he saw no other way of lessening his sufferings than by edging along the back trail.

When he reached the fork where the two paths separated, he may have recalled his situation and he may not. Be that as it may, it was too much to expect him to face about and advance in the teeth of the norther, before which he had retreated so far, unless he was compelled to do so. No one was there to urge him with spur, and instead, therefore, of turning his course, he kept on.

He had moved so reluctantly to this point that he did not reach it until Nick Ribsam knelt down a short distance off and put his ear to the ground. By this time, too, it probably struck Jill that he was moving more slowly than was wise. He therefore struck a quicker gait, speedily passing beyond hearing in the gloom, and leaving Nick puzzled, mystified, and anxious beyond expression.

All this time, Herbert Watrous never dreamed that his pony was steadily increasing the distance between them. If he had known it, he could have taken no steps to prevent the mishap, for his whole mental and physical energies were bent toward saving himself from perishing with the fearful cold.

Nothing could have been more fortunate than his finding a small cavern. It was really providential that he should stumble upon it, and he would have fared ill had he failed to do so. It was of slight extent, being no more than a dozen feet in depth, and of such narrow compass that he bumped his head or struck his limbs against the sides at every movement he made.

Crouching in the furthest corner, he huddled himself together as best he could, and concluded there was hope of seeing the thing through, provided it got no worse.

“If it drops another degree, I’m a goner!” he muttered, as well as he could between his chattering teeth. “I don’t see what’s the use of having such weather as this in Texas, when we can get all we want at the North Pole. It beats anything I ever heard of in Maine; I’m glad Nick has the blankets, for he must need them.”

For fully two hours Herbert shrank in his place, in the cavity among the rocks. During most of that time, the wind moaned around the front, as if seeking him out that it might freeze his very marrow. The hardest thing for him was to comprehend that he was actually in Texas, where but a brief while before the temperature was like a poet’s dream.

There was one thing, however, which he comprehended very clearly. If he stayed where he was much longer, he would never come out alive. He had not heard the second signal of Nick, but was confident that he was able to take care of himself, with his almost unlimited supply of blankets.

There was one way of warming himself: that was by vigorous exercise. That might not answer perfectly, but it must help matters. He, therefore, crept out of his refuge, and began making his way down to the pool near which he had left his pony. The gloom was too profound for him to see anything distinctly, and he came within a hair of pitching headlong into the water, along the edges of which a thin coating of ice had formed.

It was at this time that Herbert was gratified to notice a decided rising of the temperature. The relief was great, but not enough wholly to relieve his sufferings. He called his pony by name, but of course there was no response.

“He has been more sensible than me,” he concluded, “for he has gone to the spring, where Nick has started a fire for him and made them all comfortable while I suffered.”

The reader need not be reminded that once again Herbert was off in his reckoning.

He spent the next ten minutes in jumping about, swinging his arms, and going through the most violent gymnastics possible. The effect was good. His benumbed limbs became supple, the chilled surface began glowing, and a grateful warmth crept through his entire system.

It would have been folly to try to reach Nick by working across the neck of bowlders and obstructions, and he started down the trail in the direction taken by Jill, though he was a long way behind him.

This required no little care, even though he was following a distinctly marked trail. In the darkness he received several severe bruises, besides tumbling flat on his face more than once. But he kept his wits about him, and made sure that he did not pass the fork, where it was necessary to turn off and follow the trail taken by Nick, and which had proven to be the right one.

Here it was necessary to use still greater care than before, for the route was strange to him, and might contain dangerous pitfalls.

“Nick will wonder what’s become of me,” he reflected, maintaining as lively a pace as he dared, “but I hope he hasn’t worried – halloo! that’s good!” he added, as he caught the twinkle of a fire; “that’s where I will find the good fellow, who has known enough to take care of himself and the ponies, and would have done the same with me if I hadn’t been so foolish.”

CHAPTER XVI.

AN ASTOUNDING DISCOVERY

HERBERT noticed, as he went forward, that the fire was sinking so low as to show that it had not been looked after for some time. Backed against a bowlder near the spring, it was well protected from the wind, but had been fanned into a blaze that must have diffused a good deal of warmth in all directions.

The first mild surprise came to the youth when, on coming close to the smouldering camp fire, he failed to see Nick. He expected to find him resting comfortably near at hand, swathed in one of the thick blankets capable of shutting out every kind of cold except that of a norther, which will force its way through almost anything.

Stepping forward into the light of the fire, Herbert looked inquiringly around in the gloom, and called the name of his friend, repeating it several times with increasing loudness, but with no more result than in the first instance. Then the youth started out to investigate for himself.

The discovery that followed was startling. Not only Nick Ribsam, but his horse, the two pack animals and the pony belonging to Herbert, were missing! They were nowhere in the neighborhood.

The youth was knocked almost breathless. He came back beside the smouldering fire and tried to reason connectedly over the situation.

“This is ahead of everything yet,” he said to himself; “it begins to look as if all actions are tinged with mystery. Nick and I couldn’t understand why Strubell and Lattin should act as they did this afternoon, but I am not half as much mystified over that as over this. Nick and all the horses gone. What can it mean?”

“All that is left me, besides my weapon,” he added with grim feeling, “is my field glass, but I don’t need that to see what a fix I’m in, and yet I am more worried about Nick than myself – ”

He thought he heard a footfall from the direction of the fork of the trails. Grasping his Winchester he moved silently back in the gloom, where he could not be seen by any lurking Indian or white enemy.

“It is Nick returning,” was his thought, as he recognized the hoofs of an animal.

The next minute his own pony, saddled and bridled, as when he last saw him, walked forward in the firelight and uttered a faint whinny of pleasure at sight of his master.

“Heaven bless you!” was the grateful exclamation of Herbert as he met him and patted his neck; “I feared you were gone for good; but, Jill, how I wish you could talk that you might tell me all about Nick and the other horses.”

To say the least, the pony had behaved himself in a singular fashion. I have told how he was driven along by the norther until he passed beyond the fork in the trails, Nick Ribsam catching the faint footfalls as he applied his ear to the ground, which told him the beast was receding.

No doubt there crept into the brain of this sagacious animal a conviction that he was not doing precisely the right thing in wandering away from the spot where his master had left him, and where, of course, he expected to find him on his return.

In addition, the norther, that had brought about this breach of confidence, subsided to that extent that it was no hardship to face it. This subsidence, however, did not reach a degree that suited Jill until he had drifted off for a considerable while. Then he began edging backward, and, possibly because he divined the intentions of Herbert, he followed the main trail until he joined his master at the camp fire.

Among the many extraordinary incidents which attended the tour of Nick and Herbert through the Southwest, probably there was none more remarkable than the action of the pony Jill and the consequences flowing therefrom. He drifted away from the scene of several singular events and remained absent until they were finished. Then he came back, and had he been a little later or earlier, the whole face of history might have been changed – that is, so far as it related to the youths I have named.

Having regained his pony, Herbert was as much perplexed as ever. It was an invaluable piece of good fortune thus securing his horse, for a person on the plains without a good steed is in the situation of the sailor without boat or ship on the ocean; but he was totally at a loss how to proceed.

The most obvious course was to stay where he was until morning, or until some kind of knowledge came to him. The Texans had promised to join him and Nick by daylight and probably before, and it would not require them long to decide upon the best line to follow. If Nick had set out along the lower trail to search for him, he must have learned of his mistake before this; and, though it was curious that the friends had not met, the younger ought to return to his own camp fire whither he had summoned Herbert hours before.

The disquieting factor in the situation was the absence of the animals, and the return of his own; for Herbert could not be expected to know all about the action of Jill in his encounter with the norther.

He soon became satisfied that a long wait was before him. Accordingly, the saddle and bridle were removed from the pony, that he might be free to crop the grass within reach, while his owner spent considerable time in gathering wood with which to keep the fire going. There was only a small supply of fuel on hand, and this work was necessary, therefore, on his part.

The weather had moderated to the extent that it was much the same as before the norther swept through the hills. The blaze was not needed, except for its aid in dispelling the oppressive gloom.

Herbert was seated near the fire, and had just looked at his watch and seen that it was past eleven o’clock, when he was alarmed by several discharges of rifles. They were dull, but loud enough to prevent any mistake as to their nature. The direction, too, was easily recognized as being from the other side of the ridge.

“Nick and I were right,” he said, listening with a rapidly beating heart; “Strubell and Lattin are having a fight with the horse thieves – there they go again!”

Two reports in rapid succession were heard, and then came a third and fourth, followed after an interval of several minutes by other dropping shots. These were noticed, now and then, during the next hour, after which, so far as Herbert could judge, everything remained still.

Beyond question, he was right in his belief that a lively scrimmage had taken place between Bell Rickard, Jim-John the half-breed, and their companion on one side, and the Texans on the other. As to the result, no one could tell who was not present, until some one of the participants was seen.

Though much disturbed by his fear that the cowboys had suffered, a certain pleasure came to Herbert at this proof of the genuine hostility between his friends and the rogues. It will be remembered that he had had troublesome misgivings in this respect. He felt there had been reason to doubt the honesty of Strubell and Lattin, and that, despite appearances, an understanding existed between them and the criminals who were following them so persistently.

The reports of the firearms disproved all this and showed beyond question that the Texans were good men, ready to defend their property and the youths with them, no matter how great the risks to themselves.

Herbert had decided to stay where he was until morning or some news of his friends reached him, and wait he did through the almost endless night. Toward daylight, he fell into a dreamful sleep, which lasted until the sun was above the horizon. Then he started up and stared around, a minute or two passing before he could recall all the incidents of the preceding night.

His horse had risen from the ground and was cropping the grass; the fire had smouldered to ashes, and the clear morning was as balmy and pleasant as its predecessor. Neither Nick nor the Texans were in sight; but, determined to find out something for himself, he hurriedly saddled and bridled his pony and galloped down the trail.

“They promised to be here before this,” he said, referring to Strubell and Lattin; “and they would have kept their word, if they had the power to do so. One, and perhaps both, have been killed, or so badly wounded that they cannot leave the battle ground.”

At the forks, the plain was so open to the westward that he reined up and raised his field glass to his eye. He had detected moving bodies in the distance, and the first view through the telescope showed them with great clearness.

A small party of horsemen were moving northward, their animals on a walk. While studying them closely, Herbert’s attention was drawn to one in particular. He was riding on the extreme right, so that he was the nearest to him and was in plain sight.

A brief study of this figure left no doubt of the astounding fact that he was no other than the missing Nick Ribsam himself!

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SOLITARY PURSUER

HERBERT held his field glass to his eyes for several minutes, while he carefully studied the group of horsemen out upon the plain. There were four of them, beside the two pack animals, all apparently well mounted, and the clear sunlight brought them into clear relief. Their ponies were walking slowly, not exactly north, but bearing a little to the west, so that the general direction was the same as that of our friends on their way to New Mexico.

The horseman on the right was Nick Ribsam. Although the distance was too great to distinguish his features, the presence of the pack horses settled the question and there was no mistaking his personality: it was he beyond all doubt.

“What can be the explanation of his presence with them?” was the question which the alarmed Herbert asked himself, as he lowered his glass and gazed absently in the direction, while he studied the most perplexing problem that had yet presented itself.

He was impressed by the fact that there were three horsemen besides his friend. That was the number that made up the band of Bell Rickard. What more likely than that the three with Nick were the horse thieves?

In the hours that had passed since they were seen, far out on the plains to the eastward, they possessed sufficient time to make their way through the hills to this point. Indeed, they could have done so after the sounds of firing ceased on the other side of the hills.

But this theory of necessity raised other perplexing questions. If those three men were the criminals, where were Strubell and Lattin? Where had they been, while the piece of treachery was pushed to a conclusion? Was it supposable that they had remained idle and permitted Nick’s most dangerous enemy to get him in his power?

Certainly not —provided it was in their power to prevent it.

The inference could not be escaped by Herbert that the cowboys had been put out of the way by their enemies, and that, therefore, no further help was to be expected from them.

Other questions presented themselves, which would have puzzled a more experienced frontiersman than the young New Yorker.

He and Nick had discovered a second camp fire the afternoon before, to the northward. Who kindled that, and what was its significance? Evidently it had some connection with the Texans or the criminals, but nothing could be learned to indicate its nature.