Part 27 (1/2)
”All right! We 've got to make it, boys,” forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice. ”Hang on to the bit even if you drop. I may drift to the west, but that won't lose us much. Come on, now.”
”Hamlin, let me break trail.”
”We 'll take it turn about, Sam. It 'll be worse in an hour than it is now. All ready, boys.”
Blinded by the sleet, staggering to the fierce pummelling of the wind, yet clinging desperately to his horse's bit, the Sergeant struggled forward in the swirl of the storm.
CHAPTER XXV
IN THE BLIZZARD
There was no cessation, no abatement. Across a thousand miles of plain the ice-laden wind swept down upon them with the relentless fury of a hurricane, driving the snow crystals into their faces, buffeting them mercilessly, numbing their bodies, and blinding their eyes. In that awful grip they looked upon Death, but struggled on, as real men must until they fall. Breathing was agony; every step became a torture; fingers grasping the horses' bits grew stiff and deadened by frost; they reeled like drunken men, sightless in the mad swirl, deafened by the pounding of the blast against their ears. All consciousness left them; only dumb instinct kept them battling for life, staggering forward, foot by foot, odd phantasies of imagination beginning to beckon. In their weakness, delirium gripped their half-mad brains, yielding new strength to fight the snow fiend. Aching in every joint, trembling from fatigue, they dare not rest an instant. The wind, veering more to the east, lashed their faces like a whip. They crouched behind the horses to keep out of the sting of it, crunching the snow, now in deep drifts, under their half-frozen feet.
Wade, a young fellow not overly strong, fell twice. They placed him in the centre, with Carroll bringing up the rear. Again he went down, face buried in the snow, crying like a babe. Desperately the others lashed him into his saddle, binding a blanket about him, and went grimly staggering on, his limp figure rocking above them. Hour succeeded hour in ceaseless struggle; no one knew where they were, only the leader staggered on, his eyes upon the compa.s.s. Wa.s.son and Hamlin took their turns tramping a trail, the snow often to their knees. They had stopped speaking, stopped thinking even. All their movements became automatic, instinctive, the result of iron discipline. They realized the only hope--attainment of the Cimarron bluffs. There was no shelter there in the open, to either man or horse; the sole choice left was to struggle on, or lie down and die. The last was likely to be the end of it, but while a drop of blood ran red and warm in their veins they would keep their feet and fight.
Carroll's horse stumbled and rolled, catching the numbed trooper under his weight. The jerk on the lariat flung Wade out of the saddle, dangling head downward. With stiffened fingers, scarcely comprehending what they were about, the Sergeant and Wa.s.son came to the rescue, helped the frightened horse struggle to its feet, and, totally blinded by the fury of the storm which now beat fairly in their eyes, grasped the dangling body, swaying back and forth as the startled animal plunged in terror. It was a corpse they gripped, already stiff with cold, the eyes wide-open and staring. Carroll, bruised and limping, came to their help, groaning with pain, and the three men together managed to lift the dead weight to the horse's back, and to bind it safely with the turn of a rope. Then, breathless from exhaustion, crouching behind the animals, bunched helplessly together, the howl of the wind like the scream of lost souls, the three men looked into each other's faces.
”I reckon Jim died without ever knowin' it,” said the scout, breaking again the film of ice over his eyes, and thras.h.i.+ng his arms. ”I allers heard tell it was an easy way o' goin'. Looks to me he was better off than we are just now. Hurt much, Carroll?”
”Crunched my leg mighty bad; can't bear no weight on it. 'T was darn near froze stiff before; thet 's why I could n't get out o' the way quick.”
”Sure; well, ye 'll have ter ride, then. We 'll take the blanket off Jim; he won't need it no more. 'Brick' an' I kin hoof it yet awhile--hey, 'Brick'?”
Hamlin lifted his head from the shelter of his horse's mane.
”I reckon I can make my feet move,” he a.s.serted doubtfully, ”but they don't feel as though there was any life left in them.” He stamped on the snow. ”How long do these blizzards generally last, Sam?”
”Blow themselves out in about three days.”
”Three days? G.o.d! We can never live it out here.”
His eyes ranged over the dim outline of Wade stretched across the saddle, powdered with snow, rested an instant upon Carroll who had sunk back upon the ground, nursing his injured limb, and then sought the face of Wa.s.son.
”What the h.e.l.l can we do?”
”Go on; thet's all of it; go on till we drop, lad. Come, 'Brick,' my boy,” and the scout gripped the Sergeant's shoulder, ”you 're not the kind to lie down. We 've been in worse boxes than this and pulled out.
It 's up to you and me to make good. Let's crunch some hard-tack and go on, afore the whole three of us freeze stiff.”
The Sergeant thrust out his hand.
”That isn't what's taken the nerve out of me, Sam,” he said soberly.
”It's thinking of the girl out in all this with those devils.”
”Likely as not she ain't,” returned the other, tramping the snow under his feet. ”I 've been thinkin' 'bout thet too. Thet outfit must hev had six hours the start o' us, didn't they?”
Hamlin nodded.
”Well, then, they could n't a ben far from the Cimarron when the storm come. They 'd be safe enough under the bluffs; have wood fer a fire, and lay thar mighty comfortable. That's whar them bucks are, all right. Why, d.a.m.n it, man, we 've got to get through. 'T ain't just our fool lives that's at stake. Brace up!”