Over the green uplands, into the coulées and the brushy creek-bottoms
swept the sun-browned riders of the Double-Crank; jangling and
rattling over untrailed prairie sod, the bed and mess wagons followed
after with hasty camping at the places Billy appointed for brief
sleeping and briefer eating, a hastier repacking and then the hurry
over the prairies to the next stop. Here, a wide coulée lay yawning
languorously in the sunshine with a gossipy trout stream for company;
with meadowlarks rippling melodiously from bush and weed or hunting
worms and bugs for their nestful of gaping mouths; with gophers
trailing snakily through the tall grasses; and out in the barren
centre where the yellow earth was pimpled with little mounds,
plump-bodied prairie dogs sitting pertly upon their stubby tails the
while they chittered shrewishly at the world; and over all a lazy,
smiling sky with clouds always drifting and trailing shadows across
the prairie-dog towns and the coulée and the creek, and a soft wind
stirring the grasses.
Then the prairie dogs would stand a-tiptoe to listen. The meadowlarks
would stop their singing--even the trailing shadows would seem to
waver uncertainly--and only the creek would go gurgling on, uncaring.
Around a bend would rattle the wagons of the Double-Crank, with a lone
rider trotting before to point the way; down to the very bank of the
uncaring creek they would go. There would be hurrying to and fro with
much clamor of wood-chopping, tent-raising and all the little man-made
noises of camp life and cooking. There would be the added clamor
of the cavvy, and later, of tired riders galloping heavily into the
coulée, and of many voices upraised in full-toned talk with now and
then a burst of laughter.
All these things, and the prairie folk huddled trembling in their
homes, a mute agony of fear racking their small bodies. Only the creek
and the lazy, wide-mouthed coulee and the trailing clouds and the soft
wind seemed not to mind.
Came another sunrise and with it the clamor, the voices, the rattle of
riding gear, the trampling. Then a final burst and rattle, a dying of
sounds in the distance, a silence as the round-up swept on over the
range-land, miles away to the next camping place. Then the little
prairie folk--the gopher, the plump-bodied prairie dogs, the mice and
the rabbits, would listen long before they crept timidly out to sniff
suspiciously the still-tainted air and inspect curiously and with
instinctive aversion the strange marks left on the earth to show that
it was all something more than a horrible nightmare.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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