CHAPTER XIX
The Whirlpool
Yes, there was still plenty to worry about, if one was in a worrying mood. The Manley boys and their companions were faced with the prospect of having their whole journey, with its dangers and hardships, go for nothing, if the rustlers reached the cattle first. There was a bare chance that Mr. Manley and his party had gotten to the Whirlpool River range in time to prevent the theft; but even Teddy admitted that this chance was a slim one. The overland route was long and tedious, and could not be accomplished in less than four days at the minimum.
“Guess we’d better resign ourselves to a long chase after those rustlers,” Roy said regretfully. “That is if they go through with their plan, and I don’t see why they shouldn’t. It sounded fool-proof to me. Certainly if the cattle were gone when dad got there, he would naturally suspect Jake Trummer of carrying out his threat and driving them into the river. Suppose we hadn’t heard the thieves talking that night? We would have gone on and probably backed dad up in saying Trummer had drowned the cows. When you think of it, we were pretty lucky after all.”
“But what good is our luck going to do us if we get there after the cattle are stolen?” Teddy asked, as he shifted his “paddle” to get a better grip on it.
“Seems to me I heered tell of a couple of fellers chasin’ some rustlers an’ makin’ out pretty well,” Pop drawled. “Could it have been you an’ Roy, Teddy?”
“Oh, that was different,” Teddy objected. “We got right on their trail then and rounded them up before they had a chance to escape. But now we won’t even know which way to start. They may take the cattle any place.”
“Can’t take ’em in the river an’ get much good out of ’em,” Bug Eye snickered. “They won’t drive ’em back toward X Bar X, ’cause you said they knew about yore dad comin’ along that trail. And as I remember it, there’s mountains back of Whirlpool River range that ’ud make travelin’ with a herd of dogies pretty risky—especially if the dirt on them hills is tearin’ loose. So it looks like there’s only one way they could go, Teddy—an’ that’s straight ahead.”
“That’s one way too many,” Pop remarked, bending over to see if the patch he had put in place was still firm. It was, and he leaned back again. “There’s a straight trail through to the Border, branchin’ left from the river,” he continued. “They’ll head for that, sure as shootin’. Course I ain’t sayin’ they’ll make it, but they’ll try to.”
“No such word as ‘ain’t,’” Bug Eye said absently. “But Pop, how far is it to the Border? Good eight days’ ride, ain’t it—isn’t it?”
“All of that. But what’s eight days? I been in saddle longer than that many a time. I remember, back in ’97—stop that splashin’, Bug Eye! I had my bath!”
“Back in ’97?” Bug Eye grinned.
Pop became absorbed in the shore line and refused to answer. Bug Eye winked, and, resting his head on his arm, started to snore loudly. A sharp dig in the ribs from Pop convinced him of the error of his ways, and he sat up, an innocent look on his face.
“Me, I’m tired!” he proclaimed. “When do we hit those rapids you been talkin’ so much about, Pop? Last time I came over here they was nothin’ but a few waves. I craves excitement, I do.”
“You’ll get it,” Pop said laconically. “They’ll be more than a few waves this time. An’ that reminds me. Roy, you an’ Teddy been workin’ long enough. What say you give me an’ Bug Eye a crack at it? The rapids are just below here, an’ I want to do the steerin’ as we hit ’em. I been over ’em many times, an’ I think I can put us through all right.”
“Yo’re a great thinker,” Bug Eye murmured, as he changed places with Teddy and received the board he was to use as a paddle. “Pop, what am I supposed to do with this here barrel stave, or whatever it is? Cheer you, or somethin’?”
“When I say left, you paddle on the left. When I say right, you shift. That’s all.”
“An’ when you say ‘here she goes,’ I take my little bath,” Bug Eye snickered. “All right, Pop. O.K.! Me an’ my flat board is ready.”
“Are ready,” grinned Pop. “Yuh forget yore plural nominative, Bug Eye. Well, let’s see you work now!”
Roy, who had given up his place and paddle to Pop and was seated in the bottom facing front, saw ahead of him that the banks of the stream were coming together—closing in. It had been long since he and Teddy had come over this route, and the landmarks were unfamiliar. But he knew that just below the point where the shores converged were the rapids.
The river seemed to take on new strength now. The soft purr was developing into a roar, and Teddy, remembering the last time they had heard that, hunched his shoulders. But this sound was different, somehow, from the boiling of the stream after the storm. That had been an unwholesome noise, as though the river had suddenly taken upon itself an evil accomplishment, whereas the deep thunder that came to Teddy’s ears from the rapids below was the voice of a giant who is proud of his strength and who gives fair warning to any one who contests his supremacy.
“Feel it pull?” Pop Burns asked excitedly, as they came nearer and nearer the rapids. “Wait till we hit the worst part! You’ll know yo’re in somethin’ then, let me tell yuh!”
Teddy and Roy were too absorbed in the spectacle to answer. Directly before them a curtain of spray arose like a white cloud, pierced now and then by a jet of water that leaped upward like a silver fish. A cold haze hung over the boat—penetrating, knife-like—that sent the blood tingling through the veins. All four were leaning forward now, waiting, ready.
“Left!” Pop yelled, and Bug Eye shifted his paddle swiftly. “Steady—steady—Take it!”
The canoe plunged into the maelstrom. About them the waters tumbled and tossed in an agony of movement. The craft shot forward like an arrow from a bow.
“Yay!” Teddy yelled, his eyes alight with a fierce joy. “Let’s go!”
Roy was too fascinated to exclaim. He sat perfectly still, gripping the sides of the boat, his head thrown back, his lips smiling. This was life!
A deep whirlpool lay directly in their path. Teddy saw that it was spinning with incredible rapidity, and thought that if they hit it destruction was certain. He turned to Pop to sound a warning.
But the veteran had seen it. Not an inch did he swerve from his course. For a moment the boat hung on the edge, poised for a dive. Then it leaped.
Straight into the heart of that silver-lined, foaming vortex it shot.
“Right” Pop yelled, and Bug Eye shifted again.
There was a space of time, seemingly interminable, when the boat appeared to stand still while the waters whirled beneath it. Then a quick lurch—and the whirlpool was left behind.
Stunned by the suddenness of it, Teddy jerked his head around. The whirlpool was far in the rear. They had been in and out in less than a second.
“Pop!” the boy called above the roaring, “what happened?”
“Nothin’ much,” Pop chuckled. “We just took it at the right time, that’s all. It tossed us out. Like it?”
“Certainly did!” Teddy cried enthusiastically. “Hit ’em again, Pop!”
They came now to a place where the stream undulated like a huge white snake. There were hills and valleys of water; smooth, shining water. It seemed that the rocks over which the river was flowing were just beneath the surface—that they must surely crush them to pieces. Teddy saw that Pop’s face lost none of its calmness, so he settled himself once more with an attempt at serenity which deceived no one. Just what in thunder was keeping them from all going to the bottom?
The craft was tossing like a ship on the ocean. First the bow would almost bury itself in a smother of foam, then it would lift until it seemed that it must turn over backward. Bug Eye wrapped his legs firmly about the seat.
“Roller coaster!” he shouted, and went down again, nearly out of sight.
“My Fishmobile—” he began when once more he rose straight in the air, but at that moment they came to an especially deep pool and the words froze on his lips. Teddy watched him with amusement and saw that when he was level again Bug Eye had a wild look about him.
“I’ll stick to crazy steers after this!” the cowboy yelled. “They stay on the ground, anyway!”
But the worst of it was over. The water resumed a more normal flow and the banks widened. They still shot downstream at an alarming rate, but the canoe kept on a fairly level keel.
Bug Eye drew a breath of relief and rested his paddle across the gunwales.
“I’m cured,” he declared solemnly. “I wanted to be a sailor when I was young. But never again! That was some circus! What made it like that, Pop? I’ve been over here before. But snakes, that was a millpond compared to to-day. What happened?”
“The storm,” Pop grinned. “I kinda thought it would be pretty bad. But we’re through now. And Jake Trummer’s place is just ahead. One more bend and we’re there.”
Eagerly the boys waited until they should come in sight of Whirlpool River Ranch. The end of their trip was at hand. Would they find their cattle grazing peacefully, waiting to be driven home? Would their father be there yet? They sat tense, leaning forward.
They rounded the bend. A broad vista of land lay before them, green, rolling range land. Back of the grazing fields mountains rose sublimely, fleecy clouds capping their summits. The late afternoon sun turned the scene into a picture of pastoral beauty.
But on the range was not a hair, hide, or hoof of a single shorthorn.