Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders on the Great American Desert Part 14

"Shoulder."

"Oh! Why didn't you say so?" cried Elfreda. "Here we have been wasting time on those ruffians and neglecting you. I'll have a look, if you please. Which shoulder?"

"Left. Nothing much, I reckon."

Elfreda bared the guide's shoulder and peered at the wound. She saw that it was merely a superficial flesh wound, but that unless it had attention it might prove to be more serious.

With skillful fingers Miss Briggs bathed the wound and dressed it, Hi Lang observing the professional manner in which she went about her work and nodding reflectively.

"Doctor?" he asked.

"No, lawyer," replied Elfreda with equal brevity.

"Huh!" grunted the guide.

"Were you hit anywhere else?"

"A few scratches, that's all."

Miss Briggs demanded that he show her, which he did. Both lower limbs were, as he had told her, scratched by bullets that had grazed them, and these surface wounds she also dressed.

"Anyone else needing surgical attention?" she demanded, smiling at her companions, shook their heads. "Grace Harlowe, how is it that you were not shot? I am amazed. You must have been in the water hole too, hiding from those ruffians."

"Mrs. Gray isn't of the hiding sort," spoke up Hi. "Reckon we better have supper and get set for the night," he said, turning abruptly toward the south and gazing off over the desert.

"Do--do you think those men will come back to-night?" questioned Emma, half fearfully.

The guide shook his head.

"Not to-night. We'll probably meet up with them again one of these days, and I hope we do," he replied, looking thoughtfully up at the sky. His survey took in all quarters of the compa.s.s, and when he turned to the Overlanders again, Grace thought he looked a little disturbed.

"What is it, Mr. Lang?" she asked.

"I reckon it's the desert this time," he replied.

"A storm?"

"Yes."

"Rain?" questioned Grace innocently.

The guide grinned. "Nothing like that in these parts. Wind, Mrs.

Gray. I reckon you'll meet one enemy that you can't drive off, before this night comes to an end. We better have chow now, then make the camp as secure as possible. Shall you tell the others?"

he asked, nodding toward the Overland girls, who, after their exciting battle, were chattering and laughing as they a.s.sisted Ping Wing to prepare the supper.

"Yes. After we eat. They should know," replied Grace. "You see they are not at all upset over what occurred."

By the time they had finished supper, which had been eaten amid much teasing and laughter, some one discovered that the stars, before so near and brilliant, were now only faintly discernible, a veil of thin mist having intervened between them and the baking desert.

Elfreda Briggs regarded the overcast sky for a moment, then turned inquiringly to the guide.

"Fog?" she asked.

"No. Bad storm. Better go to bed with your clothes on to-night,"

advised the guide.

"Is it so serious as that, Mr. Lang?"

"It may be. n.o.body can figure on anything on this desert--storms, water, everything here is as contrary as an outlaw bronco. Better turn in soon and have the others do the same, for you may not have long to sleep to-night."

"I would suggest that you do the same," advised Elfreda. "You need sleep and rest even more than we do. I hear Mrs. Gray telling our friends to prepare for bad weather, so I will run along and listen. Good-night, Mr. Lang."

The Overland girls, requested by Grace to turn in, after being told that a storm was in prospect, did so, but Hippy still remained up talking with Ping, who was scouring the cooking equipment and carefully stowing it in the packs so that it might all be in one place in the event that the storm was a severe one.

Ping Wing had had experience with desert wind storms; he had learned to respect their tremendous force, and he too had read the danger signs in the heavens that night.

The guide being nowhere in sight, Hippy finally crawled into his tent and lay down with his clothes on, first, however, placing his revolver where it might be quickly reached in an emergency, but there was to be no use for his weapon that night. The enemy that he was to face later on would be proof against bullets, an enemy that no human courage, skill or ingenuity could stay.

Out by the water hole, Hi Lang sat keeping silent vigil, narrowly watching those film-mists overhead, his nerves on the alert to catch the first cooling breath, which he knew from past experience would be the vanguard of what he fully expected was in store for them.

CHAPTER X

WHEN THE BLOW FELL

A faint, cooling breath, wafted across the desert, fanned the cheek of Hi Lang. He inhaled deeply of it, not once, but several times.

"It is here!" he muttered, "I hope it may be a light one." Saying which the guide rose and walked briskly to the ponies' tethering ground. The animals were restive, they were stepping from side to side and an occasional snort was heard, but they quieted down when he went among them and spoke soothing words, petting an animal here, restaking another one there until he had spoken to each bronco in the outfit.

The guide's next move was to step to Hippy's tent and awaken him.

"What is it? Have the desert pirates returned?" questioned Hippy, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"No! Something worse is coming. Do not awaken the young ladies just yet. Come out I will show you a great sight."

Hippy sprang up and followed the guide. Hi paused by the embers of the camp fire long enough to stamp them out.

"So they do not blow about and set our equipment on fire," he explained.

"Where's the sight?" demanded the lieutenant.

"Look yonder!" directed Hi, pointing toward the western horizon.

The mist had disappeared from the sky like magic and the stars once more shone out with all their former brilliancy. Off to the westward, however, there were no stars to be seen. In their place, stretched clear across the horizon, lay a cloud, black as ink.

"Watch the upper edge of the cloud," said the guide in a low tone.