THE TERROR OF THE PRAIRIE.
There was no need of Lightning Jo telling what it was that so startled him, for following the direction of his own gaze, every eye saw it on the instant.
On the upper margin of the precipitous chasm or canon, through which they were making their way, at a point about a hundred feet above and directly over them, was the apparition which had so startled Captain Shields when in Dead Man’s Gulch. The mustang was standing as motionless as then, and the same quadrupedal nondescript was perched upon his back, its black head turned a little to one side, while it was evidently gazing down upon them with a fixed, intense stare.
“The devil will be to pay now,” growled Jo, just loud enough to be heard in the roaring wind; “but it’s too late to put back, and we’ll press ahead.”
And resolutely compressing his lips, he drove his mustang to the head of the cavalcade and forced him into a gallop along the canon, the others, of course, following his example.
Neither Egbert nor Lizzie had made the least reference to this apparition, while in converse with the scout, for the reason that each knew he bore the reputation of being a practical man, and would only laugh and tell them that it was a “spook,” that their fright and sufferings caused to appear to their own minds—an explanation which both were inclined to accept up to this point.
But Jo had scarcely started ahead, when several large drops of rain pattering here and there in the gorge, warned them that the threatened deluge was at hand. The winding of the canon, at the point over which they were now hurrying, was such that there was comparatively little about them, although it moaned and sobbed over their heads like the desolate wailing of lost spirits.
“Hurry up, Jo!” yelled Gibbons, from directly in the rear of the lovers, “or we shall be drenched!”
No need of shouting to the scout, who at that moment made a dash a little to one side, and then wheeling his steed squarely about, halted and motioned to the others to join him on the instant.
The shelter was reached.
The horse of the scout stood on the same level with the bottom of the canon; but, the rocky side of the latter, instead of sloping perpendicularly upward, inclined far out over their heads, so that the upper margin projected fully twenty feet further over than did the base, thus giving them the very protection for which they were so hastily seeking.
The party lost no time in arranging themselves beneath this roof, and in a few minutes the two wagons came lumbering up, the horses forced to a much more rapid gait then they had yet attempted.
They had barely time to reach the spot, when the bullet-like drops that had been pattering faster and faster, suddenly and prodigiously increased, and the storm broke forth.
The scene was fearfully sublime—and such as our pen scarcely dare attempt to depict. The rain came down in such blinding torrents that the top of the gorge was shut out from the view of the whites, and a dim, watery twilight gloom enveloped them all. The thunder, that had been somewhat diminishing for the last few minutes, now burst forth in rattling, tremendous discharges, as if heaven and earth were coming together—while the vivid, intense lightning seemed to be everywhere—rending rocks and trees, and playing along the canon in its arrowy flight, setting the whole air aflame.
All stood awed and hushed—no one daring to break the stillness, and scarcely moving during this war of the elements. It seemed as if it were blasphemy for man to seek to speak or interpose during the moments when nature herself was speaking in such trumpet-like tones.
But the storm was as short as it was violent; and, as the booming thunder retreated and gradually died away, in sullen reverberations, the fall of rain slackened, and just as the afternoon was drawing to a close, the last drop fell.
The appearance of the mustang and its strange rider seemed to have produced a remarkable effect upon Lightning Jo, who had lost all his vivacity and humor, and was thoughtful and silent.
“Are we to remain here all night or go forward?” asked Egbert, walking to where Jo stood, leaning against the rocks, with arms folded and moody brow.
“Go forward,” he replied, almost savagely, as he raised himself. “What do we want to stay here for?”
“I see it is nearly dark, and Fort Adams is still a number of miles away. We shall not be able to reach there until far into the night. Why not encamp where we are and finish the journey leisurely in the morning? There seems to be no particular danger.”
“I tell you there is danger,” was the fierce reply of the scout; “did you see that Thing on the mustang?”
“Yes; and I have seen it before.”
“And so have I, and I can tell yer it means something. When that comes ’round, there’s the worst kind of deviltry close on to its heels; you can bet on that.”
“Then we are not yet through with the Indians, after believing we were perfectly clear of them.”
“I didn’t say that—but what I mean is that some deviltry is brewing; we’re right in the middle of these hills, and the best thing we can do is to get ahead while we can.”
“Hush!” exclaimed Lizzie Manning, in an awed voice; “what is the meaning of that?”