Part 3 (1/2)
It was not really a road that they were following, merely a path, and the going was painful. Under Petty's instructions they stopped their mounts now and then for a rest, and a mile further on they began to feel a rising wind.
”It's the wind that I told you of,” said Petty. ”It's sucked through six or seven miles of pa.s.s, an' it will blow straight in our faces all the way. As we'll be goin' up for a long distance you'll find it growin' colder, too. But you've got to remember that after you pa.s.s them cold winds an' go down the slope you'll strike another warm little valley, the one in which Hubbard is layin' so neat an' so snug.”
d.i.c.k had already noticed the increasing coldness and so had the sergeant. Whitley, from his long experience on the plains, had the keenest kind of an eye for climatic changes. He noticed with some apprehension that the higher peaks were clothed in thick, cold fog, but he said nothing to the brave boy whom he had grown to love like a son. But both he and d.i.c.k drew their heavy coats closer and were thankful for the buckskin gloves, without which their hands would have stiffened on the reins.
Now they rode in silence with their heads bent well forward, because the wind was becoming fiercer and fiercer. Over the peaks the fogs were growing thicker and darker and after a while the sharp edge of the wind was wet with rain. It stung their faces, and they drew their hat brims lower and their coat collars higher to protect themselves from such a cutting blast.
”Told you we might have trouble,” called Petty, cheerfully, ”but if you ride right on through trouble you'll leave trouble behind. Nor this ain't nothin' either to what we kin expect before we git to the top of the pa.s.s. Cur'us what a pow'ful lot human bein's kin stand when they make up their minds to it.”
”Are the horses well shod?” asked Whitley.
”Best shod in the world, 'cause I done it myself. That's my trade, blacksmith, an' I'm a good one if I do say it. I heard before we started that you had been a soldier in the west. I s'pose that you had to look mighty close to your hosses then. A man couldn't afford to be ridin' a hoss made lame by bad shoein' when ten thousand yellin' Sioux or Blackfeet was after him.”
”No, you couldn't,” replied the sergeant. ”Out there you had to watch every detail. That's one of the things that fightin' Indians taught. You had to be watchin' all the time an' I reckon the trainin' will be of value in this war. Are we mighty near to the top of the pa.s.s, Mr. Petty?”
”Got two or three miles yet. The slope is steeper on the other side. We rise a lot more before we hit the top.”
The wind grew stronger with every rod they ascended, and the horses began to pant with their severe exertions. At Petty's suggestion the three riders dismounted and walked for a while, leading their horses. The rain turned to a fine hail and stung their faces. Had it not been for his two good comrades d.i.c.k would have found his situation inexpressibly lonely and dreary. The heavy fog now enveloped all the peaks and ridges and filled every valley and chasm. He could see only fifteen or twenty yards ahead along the muddy path, and the fine hail which gave every promise of becoming a storm of sleet stung continually. The wind confined in the narrow gorge also uttered a hideous shrieking and moaning.
”Tests your nerve!” shouted Petty to d.i.c.k. ”There are hard things besides battles to stand, an' this is goin' to be one of the hard ones, but if you go through it all right you kin go through any number of the same kind all right, too. Likely the sleet will be so thick that it will make a sheet of slippery ice for us comin' back. Now, hosses that ain't got calks on thar shoes are pretty sh.o.r.e to slip an' fall, breakin' a leg or two, an' mebbe breakin' the necks of thar riders.”
d.i.c.k looked at him with some amazement. Despite his announcement of dire disaster the man's eyes twinkled merrily and the round, red outline of his bushy head in the scarlet comforter made a cheerful blaze.
”It's jest as I told you,” said Petty, meeting the boy's look. ”Without calks on thar shoes our hosses are pretty sh.o.r.e to slip on the ice and break theirselves up, or fall down a cliff an' break themselves up more.”
”Then why in thunder, Blaze,” exclaimed Whitley, ”did we start without calks on the shoes of our horses?”
Red Blaze broke into a deep mellow laugh, starting from the bottom of his diaphragm, swelling as it pa.s.sed through his chest, swelling again as it pa.s.sed through throat and mouth, and bursting upon the open air in a mighty diapason that rose cheerfully above the shrieking and moaning of the wind.
”We didn't start without em,” he replied. ”The twelve feet of these three hosses have on 'em the finest calked shoes in all these mountains. I put 'em on myself, beginnin' the job this mornin' before you was awake, your colonel, on the advice of the people of Townsville who know me as one of its leadin' an' trusted citizens, havin' selected me as the guide of this trip. I was jest tellin' you what would happen to you if I didn't justify the confidence of the people of Townsville.”
”I allow, Red Blaze,” said the sergeant with confidence, ”that you ain't no fool, an' that you're lookin' out for our best interests. Lead on.”
Red Blaze's mellow and pleased laugh rose once more above the whistling of the wind.
”You kin ride ag'in now, boys,” he said. ”The hosses are pretty well rested.”
They resumed the saddle gladly and now mounted toward the crest of the pa.s.s. The sleet turned to snow, which was a relief to their faces, and d.i.c.k, with the constant beating of wind and snow, began to feel a certain physical exhilaration. He realized the truth of Red Blaze's a.s.sertion that if you stiffen your back and push your way through troubles you leave troubles behind.
They rode now in silence for quite a while, and then Red Blaze suddenly announced: ”We're at the top, boys.”
CHAPTER IV. THE FIGHT IN THE Pa.s.s
The three halted their horses and stood for a minute or two on the very crest of the pa.s.s. The fierce wind out of the northwest blew directly in their faces and both riders and horses alike were covered with snow. But d.i.c.k felt a wonderful thrill as he gazed upon the vast white wilderness. East and west, north and south he saw the driving snow and the lofty peaks and ridges showing through it, white themselves. The towns below and the cabins that snuggled in the coves were completely hidden. They could see no sign of human life on slope or in valley.
”Looks as wild as the Rockies,” said the sergeant tersely.
”But you won't find any Injuns here to ambush you,” said Red Blaze, ”though I don't make any guarantee against bushwhackers and guerillas, who'll change sides as often as two or three times a day, if it will suit their convenience. They could hide in the woods along the road an' pick us off as easy as I'd shoot a squirrel out of a tree. They'd like to have our arms an' our big coats. I tell you what, friends, a mighty civil war like ours gives a tremenjeous opportunity to bad men. They're all comin' to the top. Every rascal in the mountains an' in the lowlands, too, I guess, is out lookin' for plunder an' wuss.”
”You're right, Red Blaze,” said the sergeant with emphasis, ”an' it won't be stopped until the generals on both sides begin to hang an' shoot the plunderers an' murderers.”
”But they can't ketch 'em all,” said Red Blaze. ”A Yankee general with a hundred thousand men will be out lookin' for what? Not for a gang of robbers, not by a jugful. He'll be lookin' for a rebel general with another hundred thousand men, an' the rebel general with a hundred thousand men will be lookin' for that Yankee general with his hundred thousand. So there you are, an' while they're lookin' for each other an' then fightin' each other to a standstill, the robbers will be plunderin' an' murderin'. But don't you worry about bein' ambushed. I was jest tellin' you what might happen, but wouldn't happen. We kin go down hill fast now, and we'll soon be in Hubbard, which is the other side of all that fallin' snow.”
The road down the mountain was also better than the one by which they had ascended, and as the horses with their calked shoes were swift of foot they made rapid progress. As they descended, the wind lowered fast and there was much less snow. Red Blaze said it was probably not snowing in the valley at all.
”See that s.h.i.+nin' in the sun,” he said. ”That's the tin coverin' on the steeple of the new church in Hubbard. The sun strikes squar'ly on it, an' now I know I'm right 'bout it not snowin' down thar. Wait 'til we turn 'roun' this big rock. Yes, thar's Hubbard, layin' out in the valley without a drop of snow on her. It looks good, don't it, friends, with the smoke comin' out of the chimneys. That little red house over thar is the railroad an' telegraph station, an' we'll go straight for it, 'cause we ain't got no time to waste.”
They emerged into the valley and rode rapidly for the station. Farmers on the outskirts and villagers looked wonderingly at them, but they did not pause to answer questions. They galloped their tired mounts straight for the little red building, which was the station. d.i.c.k sprang first from his horse, and leaving it to stand at the door, ran inside. A telegraph instrument was clicking mournfully in the corner. A hot stove was in another corner, and sitting near it was a lad of about d.i.c.k's age, clad in mountain jeans, and lounging in an old cane-bottomed chair. But d.i.c.k's quick glance saw that the boy was bright of face and keen of eye. He promptly drew out his papers and said: ”I'm an aide from the Northern regiment of Colonel Newcomb at Townsville. Here are duplicate dispatches, one set for the President of the United States and the other for the Secretary of War. They tell of a successful fight that we had last night with Southern troops, presumably the cavalrymen of Turner Ashby. I wish you to send them at once.”
”He's speakin' the exact truth, Jim,” said Red Blaze, who had come in behind d.i.c.k, ”an' I've brought him an' the sergeant here over the mountains to tell about it.”
The boy sprang to his instrument. But he stopped a moment to ask one question.
”Did you really beat 'em off?” he asked as he looked up with s.h.i.+ning eye.
”We certainly did,” replied d.i.c.k.
”I'll send it faster than I ever sent anything before,” said the boy. ”To think of me, Jim Johnson, sending a dispatch to Abraham Lincoln, telling of a victory!”
”I reckon you're right, Jim, it's your chance,” said Red Blaze.
Jim bent over the instrument which now began to click steadily and fast.
”You're to wait for answers,” said d.i.c.k.
The boy nodded, but his s.h.i.+ning eyes remained bent over the instrument. d.i.c.k went to the door, brushed off the snow, came back and sat down by the stove. Sergeant Whitley, who had tied the horses to hitching posts, came in, pulled up an empty box and sat down by him. Red Blaze slipped away unnoticed. But he came back very soon, and men and women came with him, bringing food and smoking coffee. There was enough for twenty.
Red Blaze had spread among the villagers, every one of whom he knew, the news that the Union arms had won a victory. Nor had it suffered anything in the telling. Colonel Newcomb's regiment, by the most desperate feats of gallantry, had beaten off at least ten thousand Southerners, and the boy and the man in uniform, who were resting by the fire in the station, had been the greatest two heroes of a battle waged for a whole night.
Curious eyes gazed at d.i.c.k and the sergeant as they sat there by the stove. d.i.c.k himself, warm, relaxed, and the needs of his body satisfied, felt like going to sleep. But he watched the boy operator, who presently finished his two dispatches and then lifted his head for the first time.
”They've gone straight into Was.h.i.+ngton,” he said. ”We ought to get an answer soon.”
”We'll wait here for it,” said d.i.c.k.
The three messengers were now thoroughly warmed at the stove, they had eaten heartily of the best the village could furnish, and a great feeling of comfort pervaded them. While they were waiting for the reply that they hoped would come from Was.h.i.+ngton, d.i.c.k Mason and Sergeant Whitley went outside. No snow was falling in the valley, but off on the mountain crest they still saw the white veil, blown by the wind.
Red Blaze joined them and was everywhere their guide and herald. He ascribed to them such deeds of skill and valor that they were compelled to call him the best romancer they had met in a long time.
”I suppose that if Mr. Warner were here,” said the sergeant, ”he would reduce these statements to mathematics, ten per cent fact an' ninety per cent fancy.”
”Just about that,” said d.i.c.k.
Red Blaze came to them presently, bristling with news.