As Soon As I Had Determined Where To Drive, We Started Across.
Whipping up the mules, and keeping their necks well into their collars, we
dashed across in safety.
Immediately the wagon was unloaded, I turned it
around and crossed alone. The remainder of the load was put in, with our
two men, and, one of them seated by my side with the whip, we "yelled"
ourselves across again. Our wagon was stopped in a sandy drift, our grub
box thrown out, a fire lighted, and with the impending storm in close
proximity, we hurriedly cooked and ate our evening meal. No sooner was my
plate cleared than, taking my roll of blankets, I wearily threw them down
not more than ten feet from the wagon, too utterly "played out" to seek
shelter in the cliff beyond, where a number of cave-like shelves afforded
good level sleeping places, secure from the storm. As I unrolled my
blankets, I called to the men to be sure to put out the camp fire and place
the sugar sack, etc., in the grub box and close the lid. I was no sooner
stretched out than I was sound asleep.
A Storm at Night. One of my companions insisted upon unrolling his blankets
close to me, in spite of the fact that a terrible storm might break over us
at any time. Poor fellow! He had scarcely gotten to sleep when a frightful
gust of wind swept down upon us. Awakened with the noise, my eye caught a
glimpse of the flaming brands from the fire being tossed into the wagon,
and I rushed to the rescue.
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