On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck Part 30

"No," said the mother, "and he ain't going to die. We've been trying to cure dog bite with 'snake bit', and I reckon it'll take a week or more to sober the man up."

Then the daughter began to get a meal, and c.o.o.nskin went after my outfit, on the good woman's suggestion, to fetch my animals to the corral.

It was not until morning that I was fit to sit my saddle; but I made the effort, and after thanking my hostesses and insisting on paying for the turpentine, we said good-bye.

Mid-day travel, in the Colorado desert at that season, was enervating in the extreme. Our straw helmets, being supported by a skeleton crown, allowed a free circulation of air over and about the head; also a free circulation of buffalo gnats, blue flies, mosquitos, flying ants, gra.s.shoppers, and everything else that hadn't an excuse for living. Everything seemed to be free in that country.

The sunrays beat down mercilessly on the sandy plain, and every live thing seemed to be in search of shade or water. Once, while crossing the dry and cracked bed of a stream, I saw a rabbit, almost dying of thirst, and I put an end to its agony with my six-shooter. In the narrow bars of shade cast by the fence posts along the railroad, could be seen occasional birds, standing on the hot sand, immovable, with bills wide open, panting from the excessive heat.

We reached Sterling late that night, after a twenty-eight mile journey. The town looked dull. Everybody complained of the hottest weather for years. It occurred to me that an awning would add greatly to our comfort, so I bought the canvas, and had one made.

Henceforth we would travel at night, and sleep as much as possible in the day beneath the awning. I also purchased a light folding chair, which, with our table and stove, could easily be carried on Skates, the new donkey.

We pitched camp eight miles from town, near a sod house and well.

On the way the donkeys became obstreperous, and before they were under control, our only lantern was smashed. This stroke of bad luck was the forerunner of other misfortunes.

As I fell on my hard bed, expecting to have a delightful rest, I voiced a righteous yell of pain, and leaped out of doors. I was a fair imitation of a porcupine. c.o.o.nskin had carelessly pitched the tent on a bed of cacti. The astonished fellow made profuse apologies, and set to the task of picking the cactus spears out of me by the flare of lighted matches. But for a week I suffered the sensations of sleeping on pins and needles.

The turtle, Bill, deserves some notice. He was put in the center of a table at meal time to catch flies, but all that stupid turtle did was to sc.r.a.pe them off his head by drawing it under his sh.e.l.l.

He disdained the carnivorous diet. Millions of insects swarmed about the table, where before only thousands had gathered, attracted, doubtless, by Bill. They literally covered our food and all we could safely eat was flapjacks. Holding a fork against the mouth, we could with lips and tongue draw a flapjack in through the tines, by which delicate operation all flies and other insects were sc.r.a.ped off; and in course of time a fairly good meal was conveyed to our stomachs. Of course, one's success depended upon the strength of the flapjacks. Most of them stood the strain.

The afternoon of July 11, we saw Long's Peak, the first spur of the Rocky Mountains, in view. The following evening we rode into Fort Morgan. Journeying on, to escape the heat of the day, we came at midnight to where several trails crossed, and were puzzled which to take.

"Put the responsibility on the donkeys," I finally suggested.

"They've great instinct."

"Good idea," commented my valet; "I've often heard of horses taking lost hunters out of the woods." So giving the word, my caravan resumed the march in the darkness, and went into camp about four in the morning. When I arose about noon, I was surprised to find ourselves on the outskirts of a village. I called c.o.o.nskin, with a feeling of suspicion dawning in my mind.

"The blasted town looks familiar," said my valet.

About that time a cowboy rode up, and I asked him the name of the town.

"Fort Morgan," he answered. "Have you fellows lost anything?"

c.o.o.nskin and I eyed each other, then both gazed thoughtfully at the jacka.s.ses.

I was provoked about the loss of that night's journey; to think of our following our donkey's ears round an imaginary race-course in the desert, some twenty odd miles, was not conducive to a good temper. Many well-meaning persons had advised me to carry a compa.s.s. Some day, some night, they said, I would stray from the trail. I resolved to purchase such an instrument immediately on reaching Denver.

We spent the afternoon enjoying the luxuries of our new awning and camp chairs; I writing my article for the press, c.o.o.nskin reading a thrilling dime novel.

"This is life," remarked my napping valet, as he rolled over on his pillow.

"You bet," I replied; "we know who we are."

"I suppose there are lots of folks who don't know, Prof," he returned; "but they'll find out before we reach 'Frisco."

"But c.o.o.nskin," I asked, looking up from my writing, "do you know where we are?"

I had no sooner put the question than a whirlwind swept down upon the camp and scattered everything broadcast. Tent, awning, table, chairs, ink and writing pad, packing cases, and articles of all kinds, not to mention dog, donkeys, and men chased each other over the cacti and sand; the tent half inflated, rolled over in the scudding wind like a balloon.

"No, I don't," said c.o.o.nskin, gaining a sitting posture a rod from where I stood on my head, some hundred yards from our original camp.

"What are you talking about?--are you wandering?" I asked.

"I think the whole shooting-match has been wandering some," said he, picking the sand out of his eyes.

It was long before we collected our belongings. I never found my letter for the press.

Just before sunset we took up the march across the broad, rolling plains, which grew tiresome to look upon before darkness set in.

But occasionally a hand-car with its sloop-rigged sails set to the wind would speed over the rails in the distance, like a cat-boat before a gale, and break the monotony of the scene. This mode of travel appears to be characteristic of the Western plains alone.

We saw innumerable buffalo wallows, great depressions in the sand where the vast herds of buffalo in the early days wallowed in the cool earth for salt, and to escape the heat and pestering gnats.

In most cases these "wallows" are covered with cacti and other desert verdure, and are apt to upset the unwary traveler after dark, unless he keeps to the beaten trail.

At a little before sunset we arrived at the great D. Horse Ranch, where we watered our animals and accepted the ranchman's invitation to supper.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

BY MAC A'RONY.

That is the idea; for Juliet's a dear, sweet, mere child of a girl, you know, and she don't bray like a jacka.s.s.--_Huckleberry Finn._

We did not tarry at the D. Horse Ranch, but later on pitched camp near a sheep ranch run by a Mexican, who met us with a grunt that n.o.body understood.

"Gee! how I wish I could speak Spanis.h.!.+" remarked Pod, facing the squatty ranchman. It was comical to watch c.o.o.nskin's puzzled face.

"I once studied Spanish, but why didn't I master it! Just two words can I remember: "porque"--why, and "manana"--to-morrow. But how can they help me? To utter them would be to ask, why to-morrow? And there would be no sense in that."

"But it might convey the idea," I interrupted, "that either you know more than you looked to know, or appeared to know more than you do know; and that would be something."

My master did not answer, but when the Mexican came around again, he said to him, "Porque manana?" The Mexican laughed--who could blame him--and said something about Espanola, a young lady I never heard tell of, and invited us all to the corral, except the men, who followed him to the house. Nothing like Mexican hospitality when one understands the language as Pod did.

At first the Mexican did not comprehend that we all were thirsty.

The Professor asked for a drink in many varieties of expression, concluding with a desperate "Porque Manana?" at the same time pointing to the well. The Mexican grinned, and replied in a peculiar vernacular, and handed him a huge tin cup. Pod next inquired the right trail to Brighton in many artistic demonstrations of verbal inflection and gesticular design, and wound up with a heroic "Porque Manana." The mystified sheep herder shook his head quizzically, and began to pour out a whole tubful of liquid linguistics which my pedantic master drained to the dregs without discovering their meaning; then he shook hands with the gracious host and gave the word to "hit the trail."

"Mighty lucky you understood Spanish, Mr. Pod," c.o.o.nskin remarked, when we were some distance from the house. "I'd give a farm to speak it like you."

That tickled Pod's vanity, and he told his flattering valet that Spanish could not be learned in a day, but perhaps sometime he would give him a few lessons, just to prepare him for an emergency.

That night we donks were picketed to a rickety, barbed-wire fence, and the men pitched the tent close by, cooked, and went to bed early. Seldom had been so much care taken to prevent my getting wound up in the rope so I couldn't eat or lie down. In the morning there was a surprise for everybody. S' help me Balaam! if there wasn't a circus, then I never saw one. We donks were completely tangled in the dismantled wire fence, and cutting up capers to beat a side-show. I kept my eye peeled on the tent door for an hour. Finally Pod came out, took in the situation at a glance, and then sat down on a cactus, for less than a fraction of a second, to laugh.

I was proud of the role I played in that matinee. There I was, with a fence post wired to each of my legs, which raised my feet off the ground, walking about on veritable stilts, and close behind me followed Cheese and Skates with a post yoking their necks together, like oxen, while Damfino was rolling over and over, unmindful of the cacti, as if our extraordinary sport were for her special entertainment. We were quiet, until Cheese suddenly opened his mouth and brayed with glee. I told him to shut up. Says I, "Pod will think we got in this fix on purpose, and give us Hail Columbia."

Pod looked worried. He said he wondered how they could dismount that giraffe--meaning me, no doubt--without breaking his legs. I didn't feel comfortable so far above the earth, the atmosphere was chilly, and the rarified air made me dizzy; but that remark frightened me. The trick was, at last, accomplished. c.o.o.nskin held my fore-stilts, while Pod braced his feet, and with a violent push threw me over on my side on a pile of blankets and pillows. Well, let me tell you, my donkey friends, it required two hours to free us from the fence-posts and wire. After that, both men busied themselves like Red Cross Nurses. (Skates said they were cross nurses of some sort), and bandaged up our cuts and scratches, then, after breakfast, they saddled and packed us for the day's journey. I never want another experience like that.

On Thursday night, I think (I ate up Pod's only calendar), we again wandered from the trail, and about two o'clock camped near a cottonwood tree which seemed to indicate we were near water.

Although I was awfully dry, I had to wait till morning. It was pleasant to be lulled to sleep by the rustling of leaves (and it was consoling to know something besides us donks had to rustle), yet there we were in the boundless desert. Don's barking awoke us early. A ranchman rode up and said we would find plenty of water yonder at the well, the only water for many miles around; then he rode away.