CHAPTER XII
Voices in the Night
During the night, Roy tossed about restlessly, and once he sat up, under the impression that some one had come upon them. He peered about him and listened intently, but could not place the sound which had awakened him. Finally, with a grunt of contempt at his own nervousness, he rolled over and closed his eyes, at once sinking into a more restful slumber, which lasted until the sun was again warming the languid world. This time, when he awoke, he sprang to his feet and threw the blanket from him quickly.
There was a method in this. The insect tribes of the woods find a blanket, inhabited by a sleeping human, a cosy place to spend the night, and frequently a camper will discover a strange collection of crawling things sharing his covering. Thus, having little fondness for snakes or spiders, Roy tossed the blanket to the ground with some haste, lest the guest intrude further and stay for breakfast. He bent over the cloth to see what he had gathered, but found nothing more than a few beetles and a single, undersized scorpion. He shook himself well, tossed the blanket on a tree limb to air, and called the others.
Teddy, arousing himself gradually, “to avoid sudden shock,” as he explained with a grin, walked toward the canoe.
“Francois, my orange juice,” he muttered sleepily, and, reaching under the seat, pulled forth a can of beans. This was opened with the aid of a revolver barrel, and the contents were soon being heated in a pan held over the fire by two green sticks. The four made a most satisfying breakfast, and, after piling their belongings once more into the craft, set off again down the river.
“Hear anything last night?” Roy, who, together with Teddy, was paddling, asked casually.
“Not me,” Teddy answered forcibly, if not grammatically. “This baby slept like the well known rock. Why?”
“Oh, nothing—only I thought I did. I woke up with a start, some time in the night, and sat up. But I may have been dreaming. Anyway, if it was some one sneaking around, he didn’t disturb us.”
“It would have taken a cannon to wake me up,” Bug Eye declared, yawning and dipping his hand into the water. “Boy, when I sleeps, I sleeps, an’ no mistake. Who did you think it was, Roy, The Pup?”
“Had no idea,” Roy answered. “I dropped off again right afterwards. Pop, do we reach the rapids to-day?”
“We should,” the puncher replied. “If nothin’ happens, I expect to see Whirlpool River Ranch by night. Then the thing to do is to find those locoed steers, that Gus—er, I mean that The Pup—chased.” By common consent the subject of Gus’s disappearance had not been discussed. It was a painful subject for all of them, since they all liked the young cowboy. Each hoped sincerely that, somehow, Gus would some day return and take his place with them once more.
“What do you mean, unless something happens?” Bug Eye questioned, more to relieve the uncomfortable silence induced by the mention of Gus’s name than anything else. “Ain’t gettin’ pessimistic or nothin’, are yuh?”
“Well, yuh can’t tell,” Pop said philosophically. “This river is treacherous. I’ve seen her when it looked like she wouldn’t drown a cat, then it started to rain, an’ in ten minutes she was bubblin’ like a wash-boiler over a furnace—sweepin’ over the bank, raisin’ Cain generally. But I reckon the weather’ll stay clear fer a while.” He squinted up at the sky. “Yep, we won’t get no rain to-day.”
“Now I’ll bet it’ll pour,” Bug Eye jeered. “Pop, I hearn you prophesy before. Yo’re not so hot. Just before we had that cloudburst last spring, you said we was in fer a drought.”
Scorning a reply to such calumny, the veteran puncher pulled out his pipe and lit it. Then, puffing contentedly, he watched the shore line slip by.
Whether the gods of the storm had heard Pop’s boast and decided to put him in his place or not, the fact is that it did rain—and rain hard. Along about three o’clock the clouds started to gather, and by four the first drops fell. Within a few minutes the peaceful scene was changed to a furious tempest, with wind, lightning, and finally hail scourging the earth.
As soon as white-caps appeared on the surface of the water the boys headed for shore, and succeeded in getting their craft to a point of safety on the bank before the real deluge started.
They turned the canoe over and piled branches at its sides, thus keeping the blankets and rifles dry, while they stood shivering under the partial shelter of a tree. They felt that they were as secure there as any place, though the lightning flashed almost continuously. One bolt struck a quakermast not a hundred feet from where they were standing, but it did no more damage than searing off the bark. The thunder, following the flash, was deafening.
When the rain had abated somewhat, they ran toward the river. Pop’s description of it after a storm had not been exaggerated. The current had increased tenfold, and it fairly roared as it dashed over the rocks. Yellow foam was tossed high upon the shore.
“That queers our plan of reaching Jake Trummer’s place to-night,” Teddy said grimly. “No one but a fool would launch a boat in that.” He watched a huge tree limb go floating by. “Are the rapids worse than this, Pop? Do you think this storm will make them much more dangerous? Will—”
“Take it easy, son,” Pop chuckled. “I’m no bureau of information. You’ve seen those rapids, haven’t you, Teddy?”
“Yes; but it was a long time ago. I forget just how swift they are.”
“Well, they’re bad enough, but not quite this bad. It is possible to shoot ’em in a heavy canoe like we got. Now what else was it you asked?”
“Do you think this rain will make ’em worse?”
“It might. There’s no tellin’. But we won’t take a chance on ’em to-night, at any rate. We’ve got to wait till morning. Now let’s have a look at the stuff that was placed under the boat.”
The rain had ceased by this time, and now the sun came forth in all its glory for a farewell flash before night settled down. The boys turned the canoe over carefully and discovered that the rifles and blankets were as dry as before the storm. This lightened their spirits somewhat, for it meant that they could at least spend a fairly comfortable night.
They fretted a good deal at the delay, but there was no help for it, and they set about making camp. It took them some time to get a fire going, for they had hard work to find dry wood, but finally picked up enough to start a small blaze, sufficient to warm them.
“Guess we won’t be at the grazing ground much before dad, at this rate,” Roy declared, munching on some bacon and bread. “Golly! I hope those Durhams stick around a while longer.”
“Say! I wonder if that storm could have started another slide?” Bug Eye questioned suddenly.
“Snakes, I never thought about that!” replied Roy. “Suffering tripe, what a break it would be to get there and find the cows all in the river, drowned! And if that waddy Nick told us about spoke the truth, that may have happened. That will hit dad hard. Our best cows are in that bunch.”
“Aw, forget it,” Teddy returned. “I can’t believe that, Roy. It doesn’t stand to reason. Cows wander all over the lot, and there’s not one chance in a thousand that they’d wait for a landslide to fall on ’em. They may have been in danger when that stranger came through, but that was three or four days ago. They’re just as likely to be a mile away by this time.”
“Hope you’re right,” Roy mused. “And when you look at it that way, I guess you are. The story does sound fishy. Golly! I wish those blamed trees would stop dripping cold water down my neck.”
With a last parting glow, the sun sank out of sight and darkness followed fast. The boys had established themselves some distance back from the river, but its roaring song could be plainly heard through the black night. Like all good campers, they had brought with them a small spade, and now found a use for it. They dug up the soft earth in a trench about their camp until a layer of dry sand made a comfortable sleeping place for them. But all were rather restless, and none of them wished to turn in immediately.
Gradually the voice of the river grew fainter. The torrent was subsiding. Bug Eye and Pop had seated themselves on a log near the fire, and were puffing away on pipes, waiting for sleepiness to come upon them. Roy fed the blaze until he got it going to his satisfaction, then called to Teddy:
“What say we have one more look at the stream before we turn in? I want to see that the canoe is pulled up far enough. Want to come along?”
Teddy stretched himself, and yawned.
“Sure. Might as well. She seems to have gone down quite a bit—you can hardly hear it now. Let’s go.”
Together the two brothers walked through the woods. Neither had a light, but the clouds were nearly dispelled and the moon shone through a faint haze. When they reached the water’s edge Teddy remarked:
“I’ll say it’s gone down. We could almost start now, if we wanted to. I think we could make it all right. But I suppose there wouldn’t be much sense in it.”
“Not much,” Roy laughed. “Golly, it’s lonely here! Listen! Doesn’t the river sound queer? Almost as if it were talking to us.”
“Poetical Roy,” Teddy chuckled. “Ask it if it’s going to be a nice day to-morrow, will you? Or maybe it doesn’t talk English? Maybe—”
He stopped, and a puzzled look came over his face. He grasped his brother’s arm.
“By golly, it is talking!” he whispered tensely. “Listen!”
To their ears came a sound of voices—men’s voices! And they came from the surface of the river!