CHAPTER XIII

THE FIRST CHECK

The afterglow of sunset slowly faded out of the western sky.  And the hush of the night was over all.  The feeling of an awful solitude, which comes to those whose business is to pass the night on the open prairie, is enhanced rather than reduced by the buzz of insect life upon the night air.  The steady hum of the mosquito—­the night song of the grasshoppers and frogs—­the ticking, spasmodic call of the invisible beetles—­all these things help to intensify the loneliness and magnitude of the wild surroundings.  Nor does the smoldering camp-fire lessen the loneliness.  Its very light deepens the surrounding dark, and its only use, after the evening meal is cooked, is merely to dispel the savage attack of the voracious mosquito and put the fear of man into the hearts of the prairie scavenger, the coyote, whose dismal howl awakens the echoes of the night at painfully certain intervals, and often drives sleep from the eyes of the weary traveler.

It is rare that the “cow-hand” pitches his camp amongst hills, or in the neighborhood of any bushy growth.  The former he shuns from a natural dislike for a limited view.  The latter, especially if the bush takes the form of pine woods, is bad for many reasons, chief amongst which is the fact of its being the harborage of the savage, gigantic timber wolf—­a creature as naturally truculent as the far-famed grizzly, the denizen of the towering Rockies.

Upon a high level of the prairie, out towards the upper reaches of the Rainy River, a tributary of the broad, swift-flowing Foss River, and some fifteen miles from the settlement, two men were lounging, curled leisurely round the smoldering remains of a camp fire.  Some distance away the occasional lowing of a cow betrayed the presence of a band of cattle.

The men were wide awake and smoking.  Whether they refrained from sleep through necessity or inclination matters little.  Probably the hungry attacks of the newly-hatched mosquito were responsible for their wakefulness.  Each man was wrapped in a single brown blanket, and folded saddle-cloth answered as a pillow, and it was noticeable that they were stretched out well to leeward of the fire, so that the smoke passed across them, driving away a few of the less audacious “skitters.”

“We’ll get ’em in by dinner to-morrow,” said one of the sleepless men thoughtfully.  His remark was more in the tone of soliloquy than addressed to the other.  Then louder, and in a manner which implied resentment, “Them all-fired skitters is givin’ me a twistin’.”

“Smoke up, pard,” came a muffled rejoinder from the region of the other blanket “Maybe your hide’s a bit tender yet.  I ’lows skitters ’most allus goes fur young ’uns.  Guess I’m all right.”

“Dessay you are,” replied the first speaker, sharply.  “I ain’t been long in the country—­leastways, not on the prairie, an’ like as not I ain’t dropped into the ways o’ things.  I’ve allus heerd as washin’ is mighty bad when skitters is around.  They doesn’t worry you any.”