“There’ll be no trouble about water for irrigating this year, Joe,”said I, as I returned from the stable after feeding the horses. “There’s more snow up there, I believe, than I’ve ever seen before. It ought to last well into the summer, especially as the winds have drifted the gulches full and it has settled into solid masses.”
“Yes, there ought to be a good supply,”answered Joe, who was busy cooking the breakfast. “Which of the ponies do you think I had better take this morning, Phil? The pinto?”
“I thought so. I’ve given him a good feed of oats. He’ll enjoy the outing, I expect, for he’s feeling pretty chipper this morning. He tried to nip me in the ribs while I was rubbing him down. He needs a little exercise.”
We had arranged between us that Joe should ride to Sulphide that morning to see Tom Connor and Yetmore, as my father had directed; and accordingly, as soon as he could get off, away he went; the pinto pony, very fresh and lively, going off as though he intended to gallop the whole distance.
Left to myself, I first went up to measure the flow of the underground stream, according to custom, and then, taking a shovel, I went to work clearing the headgates of our ditches, which had become more or less encumbered with refuse during the winter. There were two of them, set in niches of the rock on either side of the pool; for, to irrigate the land on both sides of the creek, we necessarily had to have two ditches. I had been at it only a few minutes when I noticed a curious booming noise in the direction of the mountains, which, continuing for a minute or two, presently died out again. From my position close under the wall of the Second Mesa, I could see nothing, and though it seemed to me to be a peculiar and unusual sound, I concluded that it was only a storm getting up; for, even at a distance of seven miles, we could often hear the roaring of the wind in the pine-trees.
A quarter of an hour later, happening to look up the Sulphide road, I was rather surprised to see a horseman coming down, riding very fast. He was about a mile away when I first caught sight of him, and I could not make out who he was, but presently, as I stood watching, a slight bend in the road allowed the sunlight to fall upon the horse’s side, when I recognized the pinto. It was Joe coming home again.
I knew very well, of course, that he could not have been all the way to Sulphide and back in so short a time, and my first thought was that the spirited pony was running away with him; but as he approached I saw that Joe was leaning forward in the saddle, rather urging forward his steed than restraining him.
“What’s up?”I thought to myself, as I stood leaning on my shovel. “Has he forgotten something? He seems to be in a desperate hurry if he has: Joe doesn’t often push his horse like that. Something the matter, I’m afraid.”
There was a rather steep pitch where the road came down into our valley, and it was a regular practice with us to descend this hill with some caution. Here, at any rate, I expected Joe to slacken his pace; but when I saw him come flying down at full gallop, where a false step by the pony would endanger both their necks, I knew there was something the matter, and flinging down my shovel, I ran to meet him.
“What is it, Joe?”I cried, as soon as he came within hearing.