I do not know how long I was in a state of forgetfulness, but
it seemed an age. A vague consciousness grew upon me by degrees,
and then came a gathering anguish of pain in my limbs and through
all my body. I shuddered. The thought flitted through my brain,
“this is death—this is the hereafter.”
Then came a white upheaval at my side, and a voice said, with
bitterness:
“Will some gentleman be so good as to kick me behind?”
It was Ballou—at least it was a towzled snow image in a
sitting posture, with Ballou’s voice.
I rose up, and there in the gray dawn, not fifteen steps from
us, were the frame buildings of a stage station, and under a shed
stood our still saddled and bridled horses!
An arched snow-drift broke up, now, and Ollendorff emerged
from it, and the three of us sat and stared at the houses without
speaking a word. We really had nothing to say. We were like the
profane man who could not “do the subject justice,” the whole
situation was so painfully ridiculous and humiliating that words
were tame and we did not know where to commence anyhow.
The joy in our hearts at our deliverance was poisoned;
well-nigh dissipated, indeed. We presently began to grow pettish
by degrees, and sullen; and then, angry at each other, angry at
ourselves, angry at everything in general, we moodily dusted the
snow from our clothing and in unsociable single file plowed our
way to the horses, unsaddled them, and sought shelter in the
station.
I have scarcely exaggerated a detail of this curious and
absurd adventure. It occurred almost exactly as I have stated it.
We actually went into camp in a snow-drift in a desert, at
midnight in a storm, forlorn and hopeless, within fifteen steps
of a comfortable inn.
For two hours we sat apart in the station and ruminated in
disgust. The mystery was gone, now, and it was plain enough why
the horses had deserted us. Without a doubt they were under that
shed a quarter of a minute after they had left us, and they must
have overheard and enjoyed all our confessions and
lamentations.
After breakfast we felt better, and the zest of life soon came
back. The world looked bright again, and existence was as dear to
us as ever. Presently an uneasiness came over me—grew upon
me—assailed me without ceasing. Alas, my regeneration was not
complete—I wanted to smoke! I resisted with all my strength, but
the flesh was weak. I wandered away alone and wrestled with
myself an hour. I recalled my promises of reform and preached to
myself persuasively, upbraidingly, exhaustively. But it was all
vain, I shortly found myself sneaking among the snow-drifts
hunting for my pipe. I discovered it after a considerable search,
and crept away to hide myself and enjoy it. I remained behind the
barn a good while, asking myself how I would feel if my braver,
stronger, truer comrades should catch me in my degradation. At
last I lit the pipe, and no human being can feel meaner and baser
than I did then. I was ashamed of being in my own pitiful
company. Still dreading discovery, I felt that perhaps the
further side of the barn would be somewhat safer, and so I turned
the corner. As I turned the one corner, smoking, Ollendorff
turned the other with his bottle to his lips, and between us sat
unconscious Ballou deep in a game of “solitaire” with the old
greasy cards!
Absurdity could go no farther. We shook hands and agreed to
say no more about “reform” and “examples to the rising
generation.”
The station we were at was at the verge of the Twenty-six-Mile
Desert. If we had approached it half an hour earlier the night
before, we must have heard men shouting there and firing pistols;
for they were expecting some sheep drovers and their flocks and
knew that they would infallibly get lost and wander out of reach
of help unless guided by sounds.
While we remained at the station, three of the drovers
arrived, nearly exhausted with their wanderings, but two others
of their party were never heard of afterward.
We reached Carson in due time, and took a rest. This rest,
together with preparations for the journey to Esmeralda, kept us
there a week, and the delay gave us the opportunity to be present
at the trial of the great land-slide case of Hyde vs. Morgan—an
episode which is famous in Nevada to this day. After a word or
two of necessary explanation, I will set down the history of this
singular affair just as it transpired.
