On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck Part 28

Beneath all that burden, she ambled along without a murmur, swinging her ears to help her outwalk the rest, except Don, who kept up a dog-trot.

A ranchman gave Pod some new potatoes one day (half of which I yanked out of the tent door at night and devoured), and in reply to his habitual inquiry, "Where'll we stow 'em?" c.o.o.nskin said, "On Damfino, of course." When some canned goods were added to the list of poisons, my master was puzzled. "Strap 'em on Damfino,"

advised c.o.o.nskin. Pod bought some canteens. "Where'll we put these?" he asked. "Oh, hang 'em on Damfino somewhere," said the wise "Sancho." One day a large package of chromos came, and the Professor was discouraged. "How the d--l can we carry these?" he asked with bewilderment.

"Why," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the valet chuckling, "right on Damfino." Just then that silent old maid looked at the men; and I saw blood in her eye.

Picture if you can our party trailing along the banks of the Platte that bright June afternoon. A few miles away loomed the cacti-covered sand-dunes, and between them and the river stared the desert of glistening alkali, sprinkled with cacti and sage, where an occasional steer was scratching an existence--and mosquito bites. We came to a muddy irrigation ditch, where the water had leaked out. Across it was an alfalfa field, and beyond that an adobe ranch house. We donks thought the mud in the ditch was stiff; the green field looked tempting. Damfino whispered that she would make a bolt for the field, if we would follow; and we said we would. At once she s.h.i.+ed into the ditch, and the next minute was knee-deep in quicksand, and still sinking. Cheese and I stood riveted to the trail, while the men just gaped at Damfino with open mouths. Damfino, thinking she would soon be out of sight, brayed as she never brayed before.

When Pod got his senses he yelled, "Let's pull her out!"

"What with? Every rope and strap's on Damfino," said the truthful valet, running around like a head with the chicken cut off.

c.o.o.nskin tried to reach a rope and, losing his balance, put a foot in the quicksand. Then, all excited, he attempted to pull his foot out, and got them both in. The Professor tried to reach a bridle-rein to his comrade, and went sprawling across the ditch on his corduroys and whiskers, his arms elbow-deep in the mire. This put Don in a panic. Seeing his master sinking, he grabbed his boots and pulled them off. Then he fastened his teeth in Pod's trousers, and I expected to see them come off too, but s' help me Balaam! the dog only pulled off one trouser leg, when c.o.o.nskin managed to free himself by crawling over Pod's corduroy road to dry land, and saved the day! At once, with a bridle-rein, the valet roped the Professor's feet and pulled him out, after which both men fastened the reins to Damfino's pack and tied the other ends to the saddles of Cheese and myself. Then that she-a.s.s, wet and gray as a rat, with her burden, was dragged out of the ditch into the trail. Well, that quicksand pulled all the bad nature out of her, and she went a long time before she was tempted to leave the trail again.

The men looked grateful as they wiped the brine from their faces, and Pod remarked, "That was a narrow escape for all of us. Our donkey party came within two of going a.s.s-under, sure."

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

BY PYE POD.

It has come about that now, to many a Royal Society, the Creation of a World is little more mysterious than the cooking of a dumpling; concerning which last, indeed, there have been minds to whom the question, _How the apples_ were got in, presented difficulties.--_Sartor Resartus._

It was noon at Big Springs, the last village on the Union Pacific Railroad in Nebraska, when I sat down to write in my dairy. I had just finished a combination breakfast and dinner, warranted to kill any appet.i.te and keep it dead for twelve hours. Consequently I wrote under great pressure.

Since striking Camp Coyote, I had shot prairie dogs, owls, jack-rabbits, and gophers innumerable, but on Wednesday, June 30, I killed my first rattlesnake. It was not the first we had seen, but the first to lie in our path. I wanted to shoot it's head off, but instead of it losing its head, I lost mine, and severed its vertebrae. The snake was three feet five, and possessed eight rattles and a b.u.t.ton. Cookskin suggested that the b.u.t.ton might come in handy in many ways. "You know, Pod, you are always losing b.u.t.tons."

These dreaded reptiles abound on the plains, particularly in dogtowns, where they can dine on superfluous baby-dogs when families become too large. Three sorts of creatures, including the owl--animal, bird, and reptile--bunk together companionably, but have quarrels of their own, doubtless, like mankind in domestic affairs. At that season the South Platte was drained for irrigation in Colorado. I was riding peaceably along, watching its morbid current and the gray hills beyond, when suddenly my valet yelled to me, "Look out, Pod, a rattler ahead!"

c.o.o.nskin was riding Cheese, who leaped to one side, but my own steed, blinded by his spectacle-frames, walked on and stepped over the coiled snake, which struck at my leg. Fortunately my canvas legging protected me from the reptile's fangs, which glanced off, letting him fall in the trail. Instantly I turned in my saddle and ended its miserable existence.

The report of my revolver attracted some cowboys, who galloped up on their rope horses and accompanied us to their adobe house a few miles beyond. It was five in the afternoon, the day was hot, and our journey long and dusty. They were a jolly lot. Thir ranch was a square sod structure, without a floor, and sparingly furnished, but cool and comfortable.

"We'll have hot biscuit for supper," said one of the cowboys.

"So you like cooking," I remarked; "I pride myself on the dumplings I make, and my flapjacks are marvels of construction."

"Hang together well, I suppose," observed the cook, smiling and piling buffalo chips in the stove.

"I haven't tasted dumplings since I visited the World's Fair,"

said another.

"Well," declared the first speaker, "my tenderfoot friend, your oven will soon be hot, and the flour, soda, shortening, and apples are on the shelf. Anything else you need, ask for it."

I was in a bad fix; I remembered the parrot that got into trouble with the bull-terrier by talking too much.

"It requires a long time to steam dumplings; it will delay supper," I protested.

"We shan't turn you out, if it takes you all night, but we'll shoot the enamel off your front teeth if you don't make them apple dumplings, and do your best," said a cowboy.

"All right, boys, I'll try my luck, and you can save time by helping."

"Sure," all replied.

"Fetch me the shortening," I called.

"Right before your eyes," said one.

"Blamed if I can see it," I explained. The fellow put his hands on a cake of greasy-looking substance.

"That's soap," I said, remonstrating, with a chuckle.

"All we use for shortening," apologized the cook; "don't see much b.u.t.ter or lard out on this here desert."

I fell to with a will. Before long my dough was mixed. As I rolled it out with a tin can, I directed a cowboy to put in the apples and roll up the dough. Soon the dumplings were in the steamer, and the cook began to prepare other eatables for the meal. Then, my duty done, I watched two fellows throw the lariat, and shoot the fly specks off c.o.o.nskin's hat in midair.

At last, five hearty eaters sat down to dinner. The cook's hot biscuits, potatoes, bacon, eggs and coffee were delicious, and I devoured them greedily. But in the middle of our repast I turned my head in time to detect the cook meddling with the dumplings.

"Shouldn't take off the cover till they're done," I shouted; "makes 'em heavy."

"Didn't take it off--lifted itself off," explained the man, regarding me first, then the steamer. "Man alive, the dumplings are as big as cabbages."

"And 'tain't more'n likely they've got their growth yet," said c.o.o.nskin, who examined the wonders.

"Gracious!" I exclaimed. "How many apples did you cram into each dumpling?"

"Only fifteen or twenty," the cook returned; "awfully small, you know."

"That explains the size of them," said I. "You've got a half dozen whole apples in each dumpling, and a peck or more in the steamer.

Don't you know dried fruit swells?"

"But how am I to keep the lid on the steamer," asked the hungry cook, wistfully eying the disappearing meal.

"Sit on it, you crazy loon," suggested a companion.

And the fellow did. Presently there was a deafening report, and the cook was lifted off the steamer, while dumplings flew in every direction, striking the ceiling, and then, from heaviness, dropping on the floor. One broke my plate into a dozen pieces.

Another hot and saucy dumpling shot through the bursted side of the steamer, hitting one of the cowboys in the eye.

"Just my luck," I said; "they would have been as light as a feather."

"Light!" exclaimed the injured fellow with a handkerchief against his scalded optic. "It was the heaviest thing that ever hit me, let me tell you, and I've been punching cattle seven years."

When the excitement was over, and we had found sufficient grub to complete our meal, all a.s.sembled in the cool outer air, where c.o.o.nskin and I entertained with our musical instruments until bedtime.

Next morning, on my suggestion, a cowboy threw his lariat round my body good-naturedly and pulled me over, but before I could right myself Don took three bounds and pulled the fellow down by the shoulder, frightening one and all. I shouted so loudly to the dog that I was hoa.r.s.e for a week. That demonstration of Don's loyalty was a revelation to me. The man was not injured, although his coat was torn.

The lack of energy and enterprise of the town of the western plains was both surprising and amusing. I expected a package of photos at Willow Island. When I called for it I was informed that the railroad station had burned a few months before, and that their express stopped at Cozad, which I had pa.s.sed through. So I wrote to have the package forwarded to a station farther west.