CHAPTER XXI
THE INJURED MAN
Frank and Andy Racer did not need a second warning to urge their steeds to top speed. One look at the black and menacing cloud, now they knew what it portended, was enough for the lads. With Billy in the lead, they sped over the prairie, seeking to gain the shelter of the ranch houses ere the storm broke.
"She's a'coming!" yelled Billy, as he snapped his quirt to urge his horse to do even better. "She's going to be a hummer, too! It's a good thing we saw it in time."
"What'll it do?" asked Andy, galloping his animal alongside that of his Western chum.
"Tear things loose generally, if it hits anything," was the grim answer.
"Won't it be dangerous for the buildings at your home?" asked Frank, who had ranged up on the other side of his friend.
"It sure will—if it hits 'em. But that's the way with a cyclone. You never can tell just where it's aiming. It may pass off and not come near us at all. But from the looks of that cloud it seems to be headed right this way."
Billy turned in his saddle and looked back. The dark, low, funnel-shaped mass of vapor was undoubtedly nearer, and was coming on rapidly. The air had been quiet—too quiet in fact—and now the unnatural stillness was broken by a low, moaning sound, as if from some animal in pain. The horses started as they heard it, and quickened their pace.
"Steady, old boy, steady!" called Billy, soothingly, to his beast. "It isn't going to hurt you, old fellow."
The horse quieted down somewhat, but it was easy to see that he was alarmed. And his fear was conveyed to the horses ridden by Andy and Frank, for they cavorted about, and acted more like skittish young colts than staid cow ponies.
"Keep a firm rein," advised Billy. "Don't let 'em bolt with you or you might lose your seat, and it would be a hard job to catch 'em again with this storm coming up behind us. They'd bolt for the stable at top speed. Hold 'em in!"
"That's what," agreed Frank. It was rather curious to note how Billy took command of matters now, whereas, back East, and at the school, it had been the Racer boys who were in the van in every thing. But here they recognized that Billy knew more about what was best to be done than they did.
"Is it getting any nearer?" asked Frank, as he noted Billy looking over his shoulder again.
"I should say it was. This is going to be one of the worst storms we've had here. And we've had some ripping ones, too. Hark to that wind!"
The moaning sound had now risen to a scream, as if the wounded animal was wild with rage, and about to break loose.
"What does it do, blow straight ahead and lift things off the ground?" asked Andy.
"No, it goes more in a circle," answered the ranch lad. "That's how it gets its name-cyclone—cycle—circle, you know."
"Of course, I might have remembered," agreed Andy.
"But what does it do?" asked Frank, who had never seen the effects of one of these curious wind storms.
"Oh, it pulls things up by the roots when it gets a chance," answered Billy. "It just seems to twist everything off—a sort of corkscrew motion you know. I've seen whole houses twisted right around and set down some distance from where they stood, just facing the other way. That's the reason we build everything low, hoping the wind will pass over it."
"Does it rain?" inquired Andy.
"Sometimes. I think we're going to get some now. See if you can get any more speed out of those nags. We're almost at the ranch and we may make it in time."
Frank and Andy called to their ponies, and, as Buffalo was able to make a little better time under Billy's urging, the other two animals forced themselves to do likewise, for they did not want to be left behind.
"Won't it be more dangerous in a building than out in the open?" asked Frank, when they had ridden on about a mile, and had a glimpse of the ranch in the distance. "If the house is going to be lifted up and twisted around——"
"Oh, we can go in the cyclone cellar," said Billy, almost yelling to be heard above the noise of the wind. "We've got a sort of underground cave where we sometimes take refuge if it gets blowing too bad. A cyclone has no effect on that."
The wind, which had been blowing in fitful puffs, now swooped down on the three lads with terrific force. They could feel the tremendous pressure of it, and in a few minutes they saw little clouds of dust caught up from the dry fields and whirled about in funnel-shaped masses.
"Whirlwinds!" yelled Andy.
"Little cyclones," shouted Billy. "It's coming here all right!"
The roaring and screaming of the wind now became louder, and, looking back, the lads saw the black cloud fairly rushing down on them.
"Use your quirts!" called Billy, swinging the short whip about his head, and bringing it down lightly on his horse. "Make 'em know they've got to make better time."
The horses, up to now, had not felt the lash, but even in the stress of speed the lads were merciful, and only swung the lashes lightly. But it was enough, along with the howling of the wind, and the curious hue of the atmosphere, for it had turned yellow, from the effect of so much dust in the air.
Leaping forward, the frightened horses carried their riders in advance of the storm. There came a few drops of rain, and, just as the gale burst in all its fury, the three raced into the ranch yard.
"Quick!" yelled Archie, who was on the lookout for them. "Into the cellar. It's going to be a screamer! I'll look after the horses!"
The steeds were trembling with fright as Archie fairly shoved them into the low stable, built of heavy logs capable of withstanding a fierce blow.
"Come on!" yelled Billy, as he led the way, through darkness almost as black as night now. The yellow glow had faded and the ink-hued cloud seemed to envelope everything. The rain was coming down in torrents, and Frank and Andy noticed that the wind had a circular motion, marking the true cyclone.
"Here we are!" yelled the ranch boy, and grabbing hold of Frank and Andy, he pushed them through the entrance to what looked like an old fashioned root-cellar, or dugout. It was a shelter partly under ground and partly raised, with sod and earth built over a wooden roof.
"My, boys! We were getting worried about you!" exclaimed a voice, and Frank, clearing his eyes from the dust that had blown into them, saw by a light of a lantern in the cyclone cellar that Mr. Thornton, his wife, and a number of the hands of the ranch had gathered in the place.
"Oh, we're all right," answered Billy confidently.
"This terrible storm!" cried Mrs. Thornton. "We were so worried about you, Billy! Where were you when it came up?"
"On our way home. But say, Uncle Richfield, I've got great news for you."
Before he could tell what it was there came a terrific crash, that sounded above the roar of the cyclone. Involuntarily everyone crouched low, though there could be no danger to them in the underground place.
"Oh, what was that?" cried Mrs. Thornton, clinging to her husband.
"I don't know," he answered, steadily. "But I hope it wasn't the house. See if you can get a glimpse of it, Matt."
The foreman tried to open the door of the cellar, but something had evidently blown against it. Tug as he would, it did not budge.
The gale was now howling so that ordinary talk in the improvised cave could scarcely be heard, and Sing Lee, the Celestial cook, was howling his Chinese prayers at the top of his voice.
"Be quiet!" ordered Mr. Thornton, for the shrill tones of the Chinese were getting on Mrs. Thornton's nerves. "This will blow over in a minute more."
Hardly had he spoken, when there came a perceptible lull in the storm. The howling of the wind died down as does the whine of an electric fan when the current is shut off. In about two minutes there could be heard only the patter of the rain on the ground, and, a little later, this ceased. In all, the actual blow had not lasted five minutes.
"Well, see if you can get that door open now, Matt," ordered the ranchman. Once more the foreman tried, and with the help of one of the hands he managed to push the portal partly open.
"There's a beam wedged against it," he reported, but by shoving out his foot he managed to kick it away, and the door swung wide.
A flood of light streamed in, making the lantern grow pale and sickly. The dark cloud had passed, and the sun was out. It was a most wonderful transformation.
"Are—are there any of our buildings standing?" gasped Mrs. Thornton. "I'm almost afraid to look."
"Sure, they're all right," answered her husband, with a reassuring laugh. "I guess we only got the edge of the storm at that. The roof's off one of the pony sheds, but that's all. It was part of that which blew against the door. All hands out to take stock of damage," he ordered.
They hurried from the cyclone cellar. The storm had passed, doing comparatively little damage, and, as Mr. Thornton had said, probably one edge only had hit the ranch.
"Whew! That was a hot one!" cried Andy, as he looked off in the distance and saw the funnel-shaped cloud tearing away to do more damage elsewhere.
"I should say so," agreed Frank. Billy said nothing. He was looking at a dark object huddled on the ground, not far from the entrance to the cyclone cellar. The ranch boy advanced toward it.
"What's that?" called his uncle sharply, as he, too, saw it. "A dog?"
"No, it's—why, it's a man!" cried Billy, as he stooped over the figure. "It's a man, and he's hurt!"
Then, as Frank and Andy ran to join their chum, they uttered cries of astonishment.
"Look! Look who it is!" said Frank.
"It isn't he! It can't be possible!" added Andy.
"But it is, by all that's wonderful!" ejaculated Billy. "How in the world did he get here, and how was he hurt?"
"Something hit him on the head, evidently," said Frank.
"Who is it? What's the matter?" cried Mr. Thornton, running up. "Who is it, boys?"
"Sam Shackmiller, the man who tried to get that paper away from me!" answered Billy.