The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista
Joseph Altsheler




Altsheler Joseph A. Joseph Alexander

The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista





CHAPTER I

THE MEETING OF THE FOUR


A tall boy, dreaming dreams, was walking acrossthe Place d'Armes in New Orleans. It was abrilliant day in early spring, and a dazzlingsunlight fell over the city, gilding the wood or stone of thehouses, and turning the muddy current of the Mississippiinto shimmering gold. Under such a perfect blue sky, and bathed in such showers of shining beams, NewOrleans, a city of great and varied life, looked quaint, picturesque, and beautiful.

But the boy, at that moment, thought little of thehouses or people about him. His mind roamed into thevast Southwest, over mountains, plains, and deserts thathis feet had never trod, and he sought, almost with thepower of evocation, to produce regions that he had neverseen, but which he had often heard described. He hadforgotten no detail of the stories, but, despite them, thecloud of mystery and romance remained, calling to himall the more strongly because he had come upon aquest the most vital of his life, a quest that must leadhim into the great unknown land.

He was not a native of New Orleans or Louisiana.Any one could have told at a glance that the blue eyes, fair hair, and extreme whiteness of skin did not belongto the Gulf coast. His build was that of theAnglo-Saxon. The height, the breadth of shoulder and chest, and the whole figure, muscled very powerfully for one soyoung, indicated birth in a clime farther North-Kentuckyor Virginia, perhaps. His dress, neat and clean, showed that he was one who respected himself.

Phil Bedford passed out of the Place d'Armes, andpresently came to the levee which ran far along the greatriver, and which was seething with life. New Orleanswas then approaching the zenith of its glory. Many, notforeseeing the power of the railroad, thought that thecity, seated near the mouth of the longest river of theworld, into which scores of other navigable streamsdrained, was destined to become the first city of America.The whole valley of the Mississippi, unequalled in extentand richness, must find its market here, and beyond laythe vast domain, once Spain's, for which New Orleanswould be the port of entry.

Romance, too, had seized the place. The Alamo andSan Jacinto lay but a few years behind. All the statesresounded with the great story of the Texan struggle forliberty. Everybody talked of Houston and Crockett andBowie and the others, and from this city most of theexpeditions had gone. New Orleans was the chief fountainfrom which flowed fresh streams of men who steadilypushed the great Southwestern frontier farther andfarther into the Spanish lands.

It seemed to Phil, looking through his own fresh, young eyes, that it was a happy crowd along the levee.The basis of the city was France and Spain, with anAmerican superstructure, but all the materials had beenbound into a solid fabric by their great and united defenseagainst the British in 1815. Now other people came, too, called by the spirit of trade or adventure. Everynation of Europe was there, and the states, also, senttheir share. They came fast on the steamers whichtrailed their black smoke down the yellow river.

The strong youth had been sad, when he came thatmorning from the dingy little room in which he slept, andhe had been sad when he was walking across the Placed'Armes, but the scene was too bright and animated toleave one so young in such a state of mind. He boughta cup of hot coffee from one of the colored women whowas selling it from immense cans, drank it, exchanged acheerful word or two of badinage, and, as he turnedaway, he ran into a round man, short, rosy, and portly.Phil sprang back, exclaiming:

"Your pardon, sir! It was an accident! All my fault!"

"No harm done where none iss meant," replied thestranger, speaking excellent English, although with aGerman accent. It was obvious, even without theaccent, that he was of German birth. The Fatherlandwas written all over his rotund figure, but he was dressedin the fashion of the Southwest-light suit, light shoes, and a straw hat.

It was a time when chance meetings led to longfriendships. On the border, a stranger spoke to anotherstranger if he felt like it. One could ask questions if hechose. Partnerships were formed on the spur of themoment in the vast army that was made up of the childrenof adventure, formality was a commodity little indemand. The German looked rather inquiringly at theboy.

"From farther North, iss it not so?" he asked."Answer or be silent. Either iss your right."

Bill laughed. He liked the man's quaint mannerand friendly tone, and he replied promptly:

"I was born in Kentucky, my name is PhilipBedford, and I am alone in New Orleans."

"Then," said the German, "you must be here forsome expedition. This iss where they start. It iss so.I can see it in your face. Come, my young friend, noharm iss done where none iss meant."

Phil had taken no offense. He had merely started alittle at the shrewd guess. He replied frankly:

"I'm thinking of the West, Texas and maybe NewMexico, or even beyond that-California."

"It iss a long journey to take alone," said theGerman, "two thousand, three thousand miles, and not onemile of safe road. Indians, Mexicans, buffaloes, bears, deserts, mountains, all things to keep you from gettingacross."

"But I mean to go," paid Phil firmly.

The German looked at him searchingly. His interestin Phil seemed to increase.

"Something calls you," he said.

Phil was silent.

"No harm iss done where none iss meant,"the German. "You have told me who you are, Mr. PhilipBedford, and where you come from. It iss rightthat I tell you as much about myself. My name iss HansArenberg, and I am a Texan."

Phil looked at him, his eyes full of unbelief, and theGerman laughed a little.

"It iss so," he said. "You do not think I look likea Texan, but I am one by way of Germany. I-I liveat New Braunfels."

Arenberg's voice broke suddenly, and then Philremembered vaguely-New Braunfels, a settlement ofGerman immigrants in Texas, raided by Comanches, the men killed, and the women carried off! It was oneof those terrible incidents of the border, so numerousthat the new fast crowded the old out of place.

"You come from New Braunfels! You are one of thesurvivors of the massacre!" he exclaimed.

"It iss so," said the German, his eyes growingsober, "and I, too, wish to go far into the West. I, too, seek something, young Mr. Philip Bedford, and my roadwould lie much where yours leads."

The two looked at each other with inquiry thatshaded into understanding. Arenberg was the first tospeak.

"Yes, we could go together," he said. "I trust you, and you trust me. But two are not strong enough. Thechances are a thousand to one that neither of us wouldfind what he iss seeking. The Mexicans wish revenge onthe Texans, the Comanches raid to the outskirts of SanAntonio. Pouf! Our lives would not be worth that! Itmust be a strong party of many men!"

"I believe you are right," said Phil, "but I wish togo. I wish to go very much."

"So do I," said Arenberg. "It iss the same withboth of us, but suppose we wait. Where do you live?"

Phil no longer hesitated to confide in this chanceacquaintance, and he replied that he was staying in ahouse near the Convent of the Ursuline Nuns, where alittle room sheltered him and his few belongings.

"Suppose," said Arenberg, "that I join you there, and we save our expenses. In union there iss strength.If you do not like my suggestion say so. No harm issdone where none iss meant."

"On the contrary, I do like it," said Phil heartily."It seems to me that we can help each other."

"Then come," said Arenberg. "We will go first tomy place, where I will pay my own bill, take away whatI have, and then we will join forces at yours, iss itnot so?"

Arenberg was staying at one of the inns that aboundedin New Orleans, and it took him only a half hour to packand move, carrying his baggage in his hand. Phil'sroom was in a large, rambling old house, built of cypresswood, with verandas all about it. There an Americanwidow kept boarders, and she had plenty of them, asNew Orleans was overflowing with strangers. The roomwas small and bare, but it was large enough, as Phil'sbaggage, too, was limited. A cot was put in forArenberg, and the two were at home.

The day was now drawing to a close, and the two atesupper with a strange company in the large dining-roomof the boarding house. Phil, a close observer, noted thatsix languages were spoken around that more or lesshospitable board. He understood only his own, and a littleFrench and Spanish, but the difference in sound andintonation enabled him to note the others. One of themen who sat opposite him was a big fellow withglistening gold rings in his ears, evidently a West Indian ofsomewhat doubtful color, but he was quiet, and atedextrously and skillfully with his knife. A sallow youngMexican with curling black mustaches complainedincessantly about his food, and a thin New Englander spoke attimes of the great opportunities for capital in the Southwest.

Phil and Arenberg, who sat side by side, said little, but both watched all the other guests with interestedeyes. The one who held Phil's gaze the longest was asmoothly shaven young man on the other side of thetable. It was the difference between him and the othersthat aroused Phil's curiosity. He sat very erect, withhis square shoulders thrown back, and he never spoke, except to accept or reject the food passed by colored girls.His eyes were blue, and his face, cut clear and strong, betokened perception and resolve. Phil believed that hecould like him, but his attention by and by wanderedelsewhere.

Philip Bedford had not felt so nearly content for manydays. The making of a new friend was a source ofstrength to the boy, and he felt that he had taken a stepforward in his great search. Fresh confidence flowed likegood wine into his veins. He had friendly feelingstoward all those around the table, and the room itselfbecame picturesque. He ate of strange dishes, French orSpanish, and liked them, careless what they were. Amild breeze came through the open windows, and theoutlines of buildings were softened in the dusk. Withinthe room itself six candles in tall candlesticks, placed atregular intervals on the table, cast a sufficient light.Two young colored women in red calico dresses, and withred turbans on their heads, kept off the flies andmosquitoes with gorgeous fans of peacock feathers, whichthey waved gently over the heads of the guests. Philbecame deeply conscious of the South, of its glow and itsromance.

The guests, having a sufficiency of food, left the tableone by one. The young man with the smooth face wasamong the first to go. Phil noticed him again andadmired his figure-tall, slender, and beautifully erect.He walked with ease and grace, and his dress of plainbrown was uncommonly neat and well fitting. "I shouldlike to know that man," was Phil's thought.

After dinner the boy and Arenberg sat on the verandain the dusk, and talked in low voices of their plans.They deemed it better to keep their intentions tothemselves. Many expeditions were fitting out in NewOrleans. Some were within the law, and some were not.Wise men talked little of what was nearest to their hearts.

"If we go into the West-and we are going," saidPhil, "we shall need weapons-rifles, pistols."

"Time enough for that," said Arenberg. "If wehave the money, we can arm ourselves in a day.Weapons are a chief article of commerce in New Orleans."

An hour later they went up to their room and to bed.Phil carried his money on his person, and most of hisother belongings were in a stout leather bag or valise, which was fastened with a brass lock. It was necessaryfor him to open the bag to obtain some clean linen, andas Arenberg's back was turned he took out, also, a smallpaper, yellow and worn. He opened it for the thousandthtime, choked a sigh, and put it back. As he relocked thebag and turned, he noticed that Arenberg also had beenlooking at something. It seemed to be a photograph, and the German, after returning it to his own bag, gazedabsently out of the window. His face, which at othertimes was obviously made for smiles and cheeriness, washeavy with grief. A flood of sympathy rushed overPhilip Bedford. "I wonder what it is he seeks outthere," the boy thought as he looked unconsciouslytoward the West. But he had too much delicacy of mindto say anything, and presently Arenberg was himselfagain, speaking hopefully of their plans as they preparedfor bed.

Phil slept soundly, except for one interval. Then hedreamed a dream, and it was uncommonly vivid. Hesaw Hans Arenberg rise from his cot, take from his bagthe small object which was undoubtedly a photograph, goto the window, where the moonlight fell, and look at itlong and earnestly. Presently his chest heaved, and tearsran down either cheek. Then his head fell forward, andhe dropped the photograph to his breast. He stood inthat stricken attitude for at least five minutes, then heput the photograph back in the bag, and returned to hiscot. In the morning Phil's recollection of the dream wasvery vivid, but Arenberg was cheery and bright.

The boy and the man ate breakfast together in thedining-room, a breakfast of oranges-Phil had never seenan orange until he came to New Orleans-cakes andbutter and coffee. Only a few of the diners of the eveningbefore were present when they went into the room, butamong them was the young man with the shaven face andthe firm chin. Phil liked him even better in the morninglight. His seemed the kindly face of a man with a strongand decided character. Their eyes met, and the strangersmiled and nodded. Phil smiled and nodded back.After breakfast Phil and Arenberg went out upon theveranda. The man was already there, smoking a cigarette.

"Fine morning," he observed easily. "One could notask anything better than these early spring days in NewOrleans. In the North we are still in the grasp of snowand ice."

Phil and Arenberg also sat down, as the way was nowopened for conversation.

"Then you are from the North, I suppose," said Phil.

"Yes," replied the stranger, "from the State of NewYork, but I am traveling now, as you see. My name isMiddleton, George Middleton."

He paused, meditatively blew a whiff of smoke fromthe little Spanish cigarrito, and added:

"I'm not for long in New Orleans. I'm thinking ofa journey in the West."

"Nobody goes there unless he has a very good reasonfor going. Iss it not so? No harm iss done where noneiss meant," said Arenberg, in a tone half of apology andhalf of inquiry.

Middleton laughed and took another puff at his cigarrito.

"Certainly no harm has been done," he replied."You are right, also, in saying that no one goes into theWest unless he has an excellent reason. I have such areason. I want to look for something there."

Phil and the German exchanged glances. They, too, wished to look for something there. So! Here was athird man seeking to embark upon the great journey.But it was no business of theirs what he sought, howevercurious they might feel about it. Phil took another lookat Middleton. Surely his was a good face, a face toinspire trust and courage.

"We wish to go across Texas and New Mexico, also,"he said, "but we've been delaying until we could form aparty."

"You've two at least," said Middleton, "and younow have the chance to make it three. Why not do so?"

"We will," said Arenberg. "It iss a case wherethree are company, and two are not so much. Our firmis now Middleton, Bedford, Arenberg & Co."

"Do not put me first," said Middleton. "We mustall be on exactly the same plane. But I hope, friends, that you trust me as much as I trust you. I think Iknow truth and honesty when I see them."

"We do!" said Phil and Arenberg together and emphatically.

The three shook hands, and that single act boundthem into a solemn compact to stand by one anotherthrough all things. They did not waste words. Thenthe three went into the town, walking about among theinns and on the levee to hear the gossip of New Orleans, and to learn what chance there was of a large party goinginto the West. On the way Middleton told them of somethings that he had learned. He was not sure, but a largewagon train might start soon for Santa Fé, in the farMexican land of New Mexico. It was to be a tradingexpedition, carrying much cloth, metal goods, and otherarticles of value to this, the greatest of Mexico's outlyingposts.

"It will be a numerous train," said Middleton,"perhaps too numerous, as it may arouse the suspicion ofthe Mexicans. The relations of the States and Mexicoare none too good. There is trouble over Texas, and whocan tell what will happen a thousand miles in the depthsof the wilderness?"

"Nobody," said Arenberg. "Who should know better than I?"

He spoke with such sudden emphasis that Middletonopened his mouth as if he would ask a question, butchanged his mind and was silent.

"Then it is your opinion, Mr. Middleton," said Phil,"that we should join this train?"

"If nothing better offers. All such expeditions areloosely organized. If we should wish to leave it we cando so."

"It iss well to keep it in mind," said Arenberg."No harm can be done where none iss meant."

They entered a large inn kept by a Frenchman. Manymen were sitting about drinking or smoking. Middletonordered lemonade for the three, and they sat at a smalltable in the corner, observing the life of the place. Phil'sattention was presently attracted to another small tablenear them, at which a single man sat. His gaze wouldnot have lingered there, had it not been for this man'speculiar appearance. His age might have been thirty-five, more or less, and his figure was powerful. Hisface was burned almost black by a sun that could nothave been anything but ardent, but his features and hisblue eyes showed him to be American of a fair race. Hisclothes were poor, and he looked depressed. Yet thestranger was not without a certain distinction, an air asof one who did not belong there in an inn. Somethingin the blue eyes told of wild freedom and great spaces.He interested Phil more than anybody else in the room.He felt that here was another man whom he could like.

The talk about them drifted quite naturally upon thesubject of the West, what Texas was going to do, whatMexico was going to do, the great trail toward the Pacific, and the prospect of trouble between the United States andMexico. The shabby man raised his head and showedinterest. His eyes began to glow. He was not morethan three feet away, and Phil, prompted by a sort ofinstinct, spoke to him.

"It seems that all eyes turn toward the West now,"he said.

"Yes," replied the stranger, "and they're right. It'sout there that the great things lie."

He moved his hand with a slight but significantgesture toward the setting sun.

"I've been there once," he said, "and I want to go back."

"A man takes his life in his hands when he travelsthat way," said Phil.

"I know," replied the stranger, "but I'm willing torisk it. I must go back there. I want to look forsomething, something very particular."

Phil started. Here was a fourth who sought somedarling wish of his heart in that far mysterious West.He felt a strange influence. It seemed to him a sign, orrather a command that must be obeyed. He glanced atMiddleton and Arenberg, who had been listening, and, understanding him perfectly, they nodded.

"We three are going into the West, also, on errandsof our own," said Phil. "Why not join us? Three aregood, but four are better."

"It iss a fair proposition," added Arenberg. "Noharm iss done where none iss meant."

"We make the offer," said Middleton, "because onsuch a journey one needs friends. If you do not thinkyou can trust us, as our acquaintance is so short, say so."

The man examined them keenly, one by one. Phil, looking with equal keenness at him, saw that, despiteshabbiness of dress and despondency of manner, he wasnot a common man. In truth, as he looked, thedepression seemed to be passing away. The stranger raisedhis head, threw back his shoulders, and the blue eyesbegan to glow.

"You look all right to me," he said. "A man hasgot to make friends, and if you trust me I don't see whyI can't trust you. Besides, I'm terribly anxious to goback out there, and my reason is mighty good."

"Then shall we consider it a bargain?" said Middleton.

"You may count me one of the band as long as youwill have me," said the stranger with hearty emphasis,"and I suppose I oughtn't to come in as an unknown.My name is Breakstone, William Breakstone, though Iam always called Bill Breakstone by those who know me.Bill Breakstone seems to run off smoother."

He smiled in the most ingratiating manner. Thesudden acquisition of friends seemed to have clothed himabout with sunlight. All the others felt that they hadmade no mistake.

"I'm a rover," said Bill Breakstone in round, cheerfultones. "I've been roaming all my life, though I'mbound to say it hasn't been to much purpose. As yousee me now, I haven't got nearly enough to buy either arifle or a horse for this big trip on which you're askingme to go, and on which I'm wanting to go terrible bad."

"Never mind, Mr. Breakstone-" began Middleton, but he was interrupted.

"I'm Breakstone or Bill to those that feed with me,"said the new man, "and I'm Mr. Breakstone to thosethat don't like me or suspect me."

"All right," said Middleton with a laugh, "it'sBreakstone for the present. By and by we may call youBill. I was going to tell you, Breakstone, that we fourgo in together. We furnish you what you need, andlater on you pay us back if you can. It's the usual thingin the West."

"You're right, my lord," said Bill Breakstone, "andI accept. It gives me pleasure to be enrolled in yourmost gallant company, and, by my troth, I will serve youright well."

Middleton looked at him in amazement, and BillBreakstone broke into a mellow, infectious laugh.

"I don't talk that way all the time," he said. "Itmerely bursts out in spots. You may not believe it, when you look at me, but I studied for the stage once, and I've been an actor. Now and then the old scrapscome to the end of my tongue. All's well that end'swell, and may that be the fate of our expedition."

"Come," said Middleton, after telling his own nameand that of his friends to Breakstone, "we'll go to ourquarters and make a place for you. Phil and Arenbergare in a room together, and you shall share mine."

"Lead on!" said Bill Breakstone.

The four left the inn. Bill Breakstone was as poor ashe described himself to be. He owned only the worn suitof clothes in which he stood, a pistol, and a pair ofsaddle bags, seeming to contain some linen, of which hetook good care.

"Prithee, young sir," he said to Phil, "I would fainguard well the little that I have, because if I lose thelittle that I have, then what I have shall be nothing. Do Iargue well, Sir Ivanhoe?"

"It's conclusive," said Phil. He took greatly to thisman who had become in an hour the life of their littleband, a constant source of cheerful patter that invigoratedthem all. Middleton bought him a new suit of clothes, gave him some money, which he promised earnestly toreturn a hundredfold, and then they went forth toinquire further into the matter of the trading expeditionfor Santa Fé. But their attention was diverted by thearrival of a large steamboat that had come all the wayfrom Pittsburgh loaded with passengers. A particulargroup among the arrivals soon became the center of theirinterest.

The members of the group were Mexicans, and theywere evidently people of distinction, or, at least, position.The first among them was middle-aged, fat, and yellow, and dressed in garments much brighter in color thanAmericans wear. Indeed, as a wind somewhat chillswept over the river, he threw around his shoulders a redserape with a magnificent border of gold fringe. But ayoung man who walked by his side made no acknowledgmentto the wind. It was he whom Phil watched most.Some people inspire us at once with hostility, and Philhad this feeling about the stranger, who bore himself ina manner that had more than a tinge of sneering arrogance.

The young man was obviously of the Spanish race, although his blood might run back to Northern Spain, ashe was tall and very strongly built, and his complexioninclined to fairness, but Phil believed him to be ofMexican birth, as he showed the shade of change that the NewWorld always made in the old. He wore the uniform ofa captain in the Mexican army. Mexican uniforms werenot popular in the States, but he bore himself as if hepreferred the hostility of the crowd to its friendship.His insolent gaze met Phil's for an instant, and the boygave it back with interest. For a few moments these twowho had never met before, who did not know the namesof each other, and who might never meet again, staredwith immediate hostility. Eye plumbed the depths ofeye, but it was the Mexican who looked away first, although he let his lips curl slightly into a gesture withwhich he meant to convey contempt.

Middleton had observed this silent drama of a fewmoments, and he said quietly:

"You do not know, Philip, who these men are?"

"No," replied the boy, "but I should like to know."

"The stout, elderly man is Don August Xavier HernandoZucorra y Palite, who is at the head of a specialMexican embassy that has been at Washington to treatwith our government about the boundary of Texas-youknow there has been trouble between the States andMexico over the Texan boundary-and the younger is Pedrode Armijo, his nephew, and the nephew, also, of Armijo, the governor of New Mexico, where we are planningto go."

"I fancied from his manner," said Bill Breakstone,"that young Armijo was the President of Old Mexico andNew Mexico both. I have called you Sir Knight, andMy Lord Phil, but our young Mexican is both His Graceand His Royal Highness. By my halidome, we areindeed proud and far above that vile herd, the populace."

"Well, he will not bother us," said Arenberg. "Ifyou run after trouble you will find it coming to meetyou."

Middleton watched the Mexicans with uncommon interestuntil they passed out of sight. Arenberg, a shrewdand penetrating man himself, said:

"You are interested in them, Mr. Middleton?"

"I am," replied Middleton frankly, "and I know, too, that the errand of Zucorra to Washington has been afailure. The relations of the United States and Mexicoare no better."

"But that won't keep us from going across to thePacific, will it, Cap?" said Bill Breakstone briskly."You don't mind if I call you Cap, do you, Mr. Middleton?You are, in a way, our leader, because you aremost fit, and the title seems to suit you."

"Call me Cap if you wish," replied Middleton, "butwe are all on equal terms. Now, as we have seen theMexicans, and, as there is nothing more here to attract us,we might go on up the levee."

"Prithee, we will suit the deed to the word," said BillBreakstone, "but do not run into that drunken Indianthere, Phil. I would not have thy garments soiled bycontact with this degraded specimen of a race once proudand noble."

Phil turned a little to one side to avoid the Indian ofwhom Breakstone spoke. The levee was littered withfreight, and the red man huddled against a hogshead oftobacco from far Kentucky. His dress was partly savageand partly civilized, and he was sodden with dirt anddrink. But, as Breakstone spoke, he raised his head andflashed him a look from fiery, glowing eyes. Then hishead sank back, but the single glance made Breakstoneshiver.

"I felt as if I had received a bullet," he said. "Nowwhat did the noble savage mean by giving me such a look?He must have understood what I said. Ah, well, itmattereth not. He looked like a Comanche. It has beenwisely said, let the cobbler stick to his last, and there isno last in New Orleans for Mr. Cobbler Comanche."

"You didn't suppose he understood you," saidArenberg, "and no harm iss done where none iss meant."

Phil looked back at the Comanche, but there wasnothing heroic about him. He was huddled lower thanever against the tobacco hogshead. Certainly there wasno suggestion of the dauntless warrior, of the wildhorseman. Phil felt a curious little thrill of disappointment.

He looked in the same place the next day for theComanche, but he did not see him, and then, in theexcitement of great preparations, he forgot the Indian.The New Mexico expedition was about to become a fact, and the little band of four were promptly received asmembers. On all such perilous trips strong andwell-armed men were welcome.

The outfit would embrace about sixty wagons and twohundred men, and the goods they carried would be ofgreat value. Phil and his comrades paid for the right toput their extra supplies in one of the wagons, and thenthey equipped themselves with great care. They boughtfour good horses, four fine rifles, made by the famousDickson, of Louisville, four double-barreled pistols oflong range, knives and hatchets, a large quantity ofammunition, an extra suit apiece of stout deerskin, foursmall pocket compasses, and many other things which seemtrifles in a town, but which are important in the wilderness.

It took them but a few days to make their purchases, but it was at least three weeks before the train started.The Mexicans, meanwhile, had stayed about a week at thechief hotel, and then had left on a steamer for their owncountry. Phil heard that there had been much talkabout the high-handed manner of young Armijo, andthat he had been extremely disagreeable to all about him.The older man, Zucorra, who was milder and morediplomatic, had sought to restrain him, but with nosuccess. It was a relief when they were gone.

The boy, still curious about the Comanche, looked forhim once more on the levee. More hogsheads of tobaccoand sugar were there, but the Indian was not leaningagainst any of them. At last he found him in one of theinns or taverns frequented by sailors and roustabouts, arough place at any time, and crowded then with menfrom the ships and boats. The Indian was sitting in acorner, huddled down in a chair, in much the sameattitude of sloth and indifference that he had shown whenleaning against the hogshead. Phil saw that when hestood up he would be a tall man, and his figure, if itwere not flabby, would be powerful.

Phil was intensely interested. The Indian had alwaysappealed to his romantic imagination, and, now that hesaw one of the race close at hand, he wished to learnmore. He sat down near the man, and, not knowingwhat else to say, remarked that it was a fine day. TheComanche raised his head a little, and bent upon Phil alook like that he had given to Breakstone. It was apiercing glance, full of anger and hatred. Then theglowing eyes were veiled, and his head dropped back onhis arms. He did not utter a word in reply.

The innkeeper, who had noticed the brief incident, laughed.

"Don't you try to get up a conversation with BlackPanther, my boy," he said. "He ain't what you wouldcall a pow'ful talker."

"No, I suppose he wouldn't talk anybody to death,"said Phil. "What is he?"

"He's a tame Comanche, an' he's been loafing aroundNew Orleans for two or three months-learnin' the whiteman's vices, 'specially the drinkin' of fire water, whichhe keeps first on the list. You can see what it's done forhim-taken all the pith right out of him, same as youwould take it out of a length of elder to make a pop gun.I reckon New Orleans ain't no place for an Indian.Hello, what's the matter with Black Panther?"

The Indian uttered a short, savage exclamation thatstartled every one in the place, and sprang to his feet.His long coal black hair was thrown back from his face, and he seemed to be alive in every fiber. The eyes werelike two points of fire.

"Black Panther was a great warrior and a chief," hesaid. "He has been a dog in the white man's town, andhe has burned his brain with fire water until it is likethat of a little child. But he will be a great warrior anda chief again. Now, I go."

He gathered a tattered old blanket around his shoulders, and, holding himself erect, stalked in savage dignityout of the place.

"Now, what in thunder did he mean?" exclaimed theastonished innkeeper.

"I think he meant just what he said," replied Phil."He is going away from New Orleans. He certainlylooked it."

So far as he knew, the assertion was true, because, aslong as he remained in the city, he neither saw nor heardanything further of the Comanche. But the time for hisown departure was soon at hand, and in the excitementof it he forgot all about the Comanche.




CHAPTER II

THE MARCH OF THE TRAIN


The train made an imposing appearance with itssixty wagons and its horsemen, numerous and wellarmed. It was commanded by a middle-agedtrader of experience, Thomas Woodfall, who had alreadymade several trips to Santa Fé, and the hopes of all werehigh. They carried, among other things, goods that theseñoras and señoritas of Santa Fé would be eager to buy, and much gain might be obtained. But every one of thefour who rode so closely together thought most in hisheart of that for which he sought, and in no instance wasthe object of search the same.

But they were cheerful. Whatever were past griefs orwhatever might be those to come, the present waspropitious and fair. The Southern spring was not yet advancedfar enough to drive the cool tang out of the air bydaylight, while at night fires were needed. It rained butlittle, and they marched steadily on through crisp sunshine.

"I trust that the good Sir Roland is pleased," saidBill Breakstone to Phil. "Fresh air in the lungs ofyouth produces exhilaration."

"It's fine," said Phil, with emphasis.

"But we may yet come to our Pass of Roncesvalles.Bethink you of that, Sir Roland. They say that it's anill wind that blows nobody good, and I say that it's agood wind that blows nobody ill. The rain will rain, thesnow will snow, the wind will blow, and what will poorrabbit do then?"

"Get into his little nest, cover himself up warm anddry, and wait until it passes," replied Phil.

"Right, Master Philip. Go up to the head of theclass," said Bill Breakstone in his usual joyous tones-Philalways thought that Bill had the cheeriest voicein the world-"I'm glad to see you taking thought forthe future. Now our good friend Hans, here, would nothave made such an apt reply."

"Perhaps not, and I do not mind your saying so,Herr Bill Breakstone," said Arenberg, smiling broadly."No harm iss done where none iss meant."

"A fit answer from a loyal representative of theHohenstauffens, the Hohenzollerns, and theKatzenellenbogens," chanted Bill Breakstone.

"Ah, Herr Breakstone, it iss that you are one happyman," said Arenberg. "I wonder that you go to findsomething, when you have the joy of living anywhere."

"But I do go to find something," said Breakstone, suddenly becoming grave. Phil noticed that he puckeredup his eyes and gazed far into the West, as if he wouldsee already that for which he sought.

They traveled for several days among plantations in alow damp country, and then they passed suddenly beyondthe line of cultivation into a drier region of low hills andsmall prairies. Phil was pleased with the change. Ifthey were going into the wilderness, he was anxious toreach it as soon as possible, and this, beyond a doubt, wasthe edge of the unknown. The first night that he heardthe scream of a panther in the woods he felt that theywere leaving all civilization behind, and that, save for thetrain, the world of men was blotted out.

Yet it was very pleasant as long as the weatherremained dry, and the early spring was certainly doing itsbest. It was a succession of crisp days and cool nights, and Phil liked the steady advance by day through newlands, and the rest in the evening, when they built firesfor the cooking and to fend off the chill. They usuallydrew the wagons up in a circle in one of the littleprairies, and then went to the forest near by for woodthat belonged to whomsoever took it. Phil and BillBreakstone were always active in this work.

"It gives me an appetite for supper," said Breakstone."I would have you to know, Sir Philip of theForest, that sitting long hours on a horse which carriesme luxuriously along, the horse doing all the work and Idoing none, tends to laziness and fat. I need thisexercise to put me in proper trim for the luscious repast thatawaits us."

"I don't need anything to whet my appetite," repliedPhil, as he laughed. "To tell you the truth, Bill, I'malways hungry."

"Do not grieve or have fears for the larder, Sir Philipof the Hungry Countenance. There is an abundance offood in the wagons, and we also shall soon be in a goodgame country. Unless my eye and hand have lost theircunning, a fat deer shall speedily be roasting over thecoals."

The four kept close together, and they usuallygathered around the fire at which Thomas Woodfall, theleader, sat. Woodfall had shown a decided respect andliking for Middleton, and, following the custom whichBreakstone had established, always addressed him as Cap, short for Captain. Phil and Breakstone had beenparticularly active gathering wood that evening, and it hadbeen Phil's task and pleasure, when it was all put in aheap, to light it. Now he was watching the little flamesgrow into big ones, and the yellow light turn to blazingred. He listened, also, as the flames hissed a littlebefore the wind, and the dry boughs snapped and crackledunder the fiery torch. Middleton regarded him withkindly approval.

"A good boy," he said to Woodfall. "A lad withfine instincts and a brave spirit."

"And a mighty handy one, too," said Woodfall."I've noticed how he works. He's as big and strongas a man, and I never saw anybody else who was justprized down like a hogshead of tobacco, crowded full ofzeal."

"I think it likely he will need it all before our journeyis over," said Middleton.

"It's probable," repeated Woodfall, "but I'll askyou, Cap, not to speak it. It may be that thisexpedition was begun at the wrong time. I had heard, and theowners had heard, that the troubles with Mexico werequieting down, but it seems that, instead of doing so, they are getting livelier."

"I shall certainly say nothing about it to our peoplehere," replied Middleton. "Cheerful hearts are the best, and we may have trouble with neither Mexicans norIndians."

Phil himself was not thinking at that moment ofeither yellow or red foes. His fire had grown into amighty pyramid, and, as the dead wood burned fast, itsoon sank down into a great mass of glowing coals.Then he, Breakstone, and Arenberg boiled coffee in bigiron pots, and cooked bread and many slices of bacon.The night was cool and nipping, but the coals threw outan abundance of heat. A delicious aroma arose andspread far. Everybody came forward with tin cup andtin plate, and helped himself. Phil took his filled platein one hand, his filled cup in the other, and sat down ona fallen log with Breakstone and Arenberg.

"In my time, and as an ornament to the stage," saidBill Breakstone, "I have eaten some bountiful repasts. Ihave feasted as a prince, a duke, or some other lordling.I have been the wrestler in the Forest of Arden withRosalind and Celia. I have had my head deep in themug of sack, as Sir John Falstaff, but most of thosemagnificent repasts depended largely upon the imagination.Here I am neither prince nor duke, but the food isreal, and the air is so good that one might even bite achip with a certain pleasure. Excuse me, Sir Philip ofthe Forest, while I even drain the coffee-cup."

He took it all down at one draught, and a beatificglow overspread his face. Arenberg regarded him withadmiration.

"Ach, Mein Herr Breakstone, but you are one cheerfulman!" he said. "You never do any harm, becausenone iss meant. When you drink the coffee you makeme think of the German in the old country drinking beer, and you like it as well."

"I snatch the joys of the flying day, or, rather, night, and think not of the ills of the morrow," repliedBreakstone. "Somebody somewhere said something like that, and, whoever he was, he was a good talker. To-morrow,Phil, I think I may get a chance to show you how toshoot a deer."

"I hope so," said Phil eagerly. He, too, was luxuriating, and he was fully as cheerful as Bill Breakstone.The great beds of coal threw a warm, luminous glow overall the circle enveloped by the wagons. Everybody ateand felt good. The pleasant hum of pleasant talk arose.Outside the wagons the tethered horses cropped the shortyoung grass, and they, too, were content. Not far awaythe forest of magnolia, poplar, and many kinds of oakrustled before the slight wind, and the note that camefrom it was also of content.

Phil, after he had eaten and drunk all that he wished, and it was much, lay on the ground with his back againstthe log and listened to the talk. He heard wonderfultales of adventure in the West Indies and on the SouthAmerican coast, of fights in Mexico and Texas, when thelittle bands of Texans won their independence, ofencounters with raiding Comanches, and of strange stone ruinsleft by vanished races in the deserts of the Far West.He was fascinated as he listened. The spirit of romancewas developed strongly within him. It was, indeed, amost adventurous search upon which he was embarked, and this spirit, strong, enduring, hardened to meet allthings, was what he needed most.

As the fires died down, and the warmth decreased, hewrapped his blanket around himself, and now and thendozed a little. But he still felt very content. It seemedto him that it was uncommon fortune to have joinedsuch an expedition, and it was a good omen. He mustsucceed in his great search.

"Well, Sir Roland, what is it?" said Bill Breakstoneat last. "Do you want to sleep in the wagon or on theground here? The good Knight Orlando, who for thepresent is myself, means to choose the ground."

"No stuffy wagon for me on a night like this," rejoinedPhil sleepily. "I am going to sleep just where I lie."

He settled back more comfortably, put his arm underhis head, and in a few moments was in the deep, dreamlesssleep of youth and health. Bill Breakstone quicklyfollowed him to that pleasant land of Nowhere. ThenArenberg and the Captain were soon entering the sameregion. The fires sank lower and lower, the sound ofbreathing from many men arose, the horses outsidebecame quiet, and peace settled over the wildernesscamp.

Phil slept far into the night, he never knew how far, but he believed it was about half way between midnightand morning. When he awoke it was very dark, andthere was no noise but that of the breathing men and therustling wind. Just why he, a sound sleeper, hadawakened at that time he could not say. But he had eatenlargely, and he was conscious of thirst, a thirst thatcould be quenched easily at a little spring in the wood.

The boy rose, letting his blanket drop to the ground, and glanced over the sleeping camp. Despite thedarkness, he saw the forms of recumbent men, and some coalsthat yet glimmered faintly. Around them was the darkcircling line of the wagons. No regular watch was keptas they were yet far from dangerous country, and, passingbetween two of the wagons, Phil went toward the spring, which was about three hundred yards away.

It was a nice cold spring, rising at the base of a rock, and running away in a tiny stream among the poplars.Phil knelt and drank, and then sat upon an upthrustroot. The desire for sleep had left him, and his mindturned upon his great search. He took the paper from theinside pocket of his coat, unfolded it, and smoothed itout with his fingers. It was too dark for him to read it, but he held it there a little while, then folded it upagain, and returned it to its resting place. He wasabout to rise again and return to the camp, butsomething moved in the thicket. It might have been a lizard,or it might have been the wind, but he was sure it wasneither. The sound was wholly out of harmony with thenote of the night.

Phil remained sitting on the upthrust root, but leanedagainst the trunk to which the root belonged. His figureblended darkly against the bark. Only an eye ofuncommon acuteness would note him. The slight stirring, somuch out of tune with all the wilderness noises, cameagain, and, despite his strength and will, both of whichwere great, Phil felt ice pass along his spine, and hishair rose slightly. That uncanny hour at which evildeeds happen held him in its spell. But he did not move, except for the slipping of his hand to the pistol in hisbelt, and he waited.

Slowly a dark face formed itself in the bushes, andbeneath it was the faint outline of a human figure. Theface was malignant and cruel, a reddish copper in color, with a sharp, strong chin, high cheek-bones, and blackglowing eyes. These eyes were bent in a fierce gaze uponthe circle of wagons. They did not turn in Phil'sdirection at all, but the face held him fascinated.

It seemed to Phil that he had seen that countenancebefore, and as he gazed he remembered. It was surelythat of Black Panther, the Comanche, but what astartling change. The crouching, fuddled lump of a man intattered clothes, whom he had seen in New Orleans, hadbeen transformed when the breath of the wildernesspoured into his lungs. He fitted thoroughly into thisdark and weird scene, and the hair on Phil's head rosea little more. Then the head, and the figure with it, suddenly melted away and were gone. There was nostrange stirring in the thicket, nothing that was not inaccord with the night.

The ice left Phil's spine, the hair lay down peacefullyonce more on his head, and his hand moved away fromthe pistol at his belt. It was like a dream in the dark, the sudden appearance of that Medusa head in the bushes, and he was impressed with all the weight of convictionthat it was an omen of bad days to come. The windwhispered it, and the quiver in his blood answered. Butthe men in the train might laugh at him if he told thathe had merely seen an Indian's face in the bushes. Thething itself would be slight enough in the telling, and hedid not wish to be ridiculed as a boy whose fears hadpainted a picture of that which was not. But he walkedwarily back, and he was glad enough when he repassedbetween two of the wagons, and resumed his old place.Middleton, Arenberg, and Bill Breakstone all sleptsoundly, and Phil, wrapped in his blanket, sought toimitate them. But he could not. He lay there thinkinguntil the low band of scarlet in the east foreshadowed theday. He rose and looked once more over the camp. Thelast coal had died, and the dark forms, wrapped in theirblankets, looked chill and cold. But the red dawn wasadvancing, and warmth came with it. One by one themen awoke. The horses stirred. Phil stood up andstretched his arms. Middleton, Bill Breakstone, andArenberg awoke. They had slept soundly and pleasantlyall through the night.

"'Tis a fine couch, this Mother Earth," said BillBreakstone, "finer than cloth of gold, if it be not rainingor snowing, or the winds be not nipping. Then, in suchevent, I should take the cloth of gold, with a snug tentover it."

"I have slept well, and I awake strong and refreshed,"said Arenberg simply. "It iss all I ask of a night."

"I have not slept well," said Phil, "at least I didnot during the latter part of the night."

There was a certain significance in his tone, and theothers looked at him. Only they were near, and Philsaid in a low tone:

"I awoke in the night, and I was restless. I walkeddown to the spring for a drink, and I saw a face in thebushes, the face of a man who was watching us."

"Ah!" said Middleton, a single monosyllable, longdrawn. But his tone expressed interest, not surprise.He looked at the boy as if he expected to hear more.

"I saw the face clearly," continued Phil. "It waschanged, wonderfully changed in expression, but I knewit. I could not be mistaken. It was that Comanche, called Black Panther, whom we saw in New Orleans. Hewas dirty and degraded there, but he did not seem so lastnight."

"I am glad that you told this, Phil," said Middleton."It was a lucky chance that awakened you and sent youto the spring."

"Once I thought I would not speak of it at all," saidthe boy. "I was afraid they would say it was only adream or a creation of my fancy."

"I'm sure that you really saw it," said Middleton,"and I will speak with Mr. Woodfall. The time hascome when we must be cautious."

The camp was now wholly awake, and the men beganto light the fires anew, and take their breakfasts.Middleton talked with Mr. Woodfall, and, as the latter keptit no secret, the news soon spread throughout the train.Philip Bedford, prowling about in the dark, had seen anIndian in the woods near by, an Indian who seemed tobe watching them.

The news was variously received, because there weremany kinds of men in this train. Some took it seriously; others were disposed to laugh, and to hint, as Philhad feared, that it was fancy or a dream; and others carednothing about it. What was a single wandering warriorto them? But the leader compelled a more carefuladvance. Scouts were sent ahead, and others rode on theflanks. Phil and his comrades shared in this duty, andthat very day he and Bill Breakstone and Arenberg wereamong those who rode ahead.

It was not an easy duty, because they were now inthick forest, with much swampy ground about. Darkfunereal cypresses abounded in the marshy soil, andgloomy moss hung from the live oaks. A deer sprangup, and Phil pulled down his rifle, but Breakstone wouldnot let him shoot.

"Not now, Phil," he said. "We must not shoot atchance game when we are scouting. My talk may notsound like it, but I know something of wilderness life.One can never be too cautious, whether on the plains orin the woods. Things may happen. Wait for them.As the poet saith, 'One crowded hour of glorious life isworth a world without a name.'"

"Say that again," said Arenberg.

"One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a worldwithout a name."

"It sounds good. It iss good. I will remember it,"said the German.

But as two or three days passed with no sign of trouble, the face that Phil had seen in the bushes was forgottenor ignored. It was a light-hearted crowd, used towild life and adventure, and these men, drawn fromdifferent parts of the globe, occupied with to-day, tooklittle thought of to-morrow's dangers. The weatherremained beautiful. Days and nights were dry, and theywere again on good firm earth, which made the way of thewagons easy. Phil, instructed by Bill Breakstone, stalkedand shot a deer, a fine, fat buck, which gave a slice foreverybody in the train, and which brought him compliments.In fact, he was already a general favorite, and hedid not mind when they jested now and then about theface in the bushes, and told him that he was a seer ofvisions. He was rapidly becoming an adept in the forestlife, to which he took naturally, and in Bill Breakstonehe had no mean tutor. Breakstone soon showed that hewas a scout and trailer of the first quality, although hedid not explain why he had spent so many years in thewilds.

"It's partly gift, and partly training, Sir Philip ofthe Youthful Countenance and of the Good Blue Eye,"he said. "If you just teach yourself to see everythingand to hear everything about you, and never forget it, you've got most of the lesson. And you, Phil, with goodeyes, good ears, a quick mind, and a willing heart, ought to come fast toward the head of the class."

Phil flushed with pleasure. In the task that he hadset for himself he greatly needed forest lore, and it was akeen satisfaction to know that he was acquiring it. Heredoubled his efforts. He always noted carefully thecountry through which they passed, the configuration ofthe earth, and the various kinds of trees and bushes.At night he would often ask Bill Breakstone to questionhim, and from his superior knowledge and longertraining to point out a mistake whenever he might make it.Bill was a severe teacher, and he criticised freelywhenever Phil was wrong. But he admitted that his pupilwas making progress. Arenberg was smoking his pipeat one of their sittings, and, taking it out of his mouth,he remarked:

"No harm iss done where none iss meant. Now whatI wish to ask you, Herr Breakstone, and you, young HerrPhilip, would you remember all your lessons if you wereon foot on the prairie, unarmed, and a wild Comanchewarrior were riding at you, ready to run his lance throughyou?"

"I don't know," replied Phil frankly, "but I hopesuch a time will never come."

"That's the rub," said Arenberg meditatively. "Itiss good to know all the rules, to do all you can before, but it iss better to think fast, and act right when thegreat emergency comes. It iss only then that you are ofthe first class. I say so, and I say so because I know."

Only Phil noticed the faint tone of sadness with whichhis words ended, and he glanced quickly at the German.But Arenberg's face expressed nothing. Once more hewas pulling calmly at his pipe. Bill Breakstone gave hiswords hearty indorsement.

"You're right," he said. "The Grand Duke of Germanyspeaks the truth. I've embodied that piece ofwisdom in a little poem, which I will quote to you:

		"You may lead a horse to the water,
		But you cannot make him drink.
		You may stuff a man with knowledge,
		But you cannot make him think.

"Part of that is borrowed, and part of it is original, but, combining the two parts, I think it is a little masterpiece."

Arenberg took out his pipe again, and regarded BillBreakstone with admiration.

"It iss one great man, this Herr Bill Breakstone," hesaid. "He makes poetry and tells the truth at the sametime."

"Thanks, most puissant lord," said Breakstone, "andnow, the lesson being over, Phil, I think we might all ofus go to sleep and knit up a few raveled sleeves of care."

"We might take to the wagon," said Middleton. "IfI'm any judge of weather, Phil, the beautiful spell thatwe've had is coming to an end."

"You're right, Cap," said Breakstone. "I noticedthat when the sun set to-day it looked redder than usualthrough a cloud of mist, and that means rain. Therefore,Orlando deserts his little Forest of Arden, andbetakes himself to the shelter of the curved canvas."

Phil deemed it wise to imitate him, and the fourfound places in the large wagon among their goods, wherethey had the shelter of the canvas roof, although thecover was open at either end to allow the clean sweep ofthe air. Phil, as usual, slept well. Five minutes wasabout all he needed for the preparatory stage, andto-night was no exception. But he awoke again in themiddle of the night. Now he knew full well the cause. Lowthunder was rumbling far off at the edge of the earth, anda stroke of lightning made him wink his sleepy eyes.Then came a rush of cold air, and after it the rain. Thebig drops rattled on the curving canvas roof, but theycould not penetrate the thick cloth. Phil raised himselfa little, and looked out at the open ends, but he saw onlydarkness.

Meanwhile the rain increased and beat harder uponthe roof, which shed it like shingles. Phil drew hisblanket up to his chin, rested his head and shoulders alittle more easily against a bag of meal, and never had agreater sense of luxury in his life. The beat of the rainon the canvas was like the patter of the rain on the roofof the old home, when he was a little boy and lay snugunder the eaves. He had the same pleasant sense ofwarmth and shelter now. The storm might beat abouthim, but it could not touch him. He heard the evenbreathing of his comrades, who had not awakened. Heheard the low thunder still grumbling far off in thesouth-west, and the lightning came again at intervals, but hesank gently back to slumber.

When he awoke the next morning the rain was stillfalling, and the whole world was a sodden gray. Theair, too, was full of raw chill, despite the southernlatitude, and Phil shivered. It was his first impulse to drawthe blanket more tightly, but he resolutely put the impulsedown. He threw the blanket aside, slipped on his coatand boots, the only apparel that he had removed for thenight's rest, and sprang out into the rain, leaving hiscomrade still asleep.

Not many of the men were yet up, and Phil went atonce into the forest in search of fallen wood, which wasalways abundant. It was not a pleasant task. For thefirst time he felt the work hard and disagreeable. Mistsand vapors were rising from the wet earth, and the sundid not show. The rain came down steadily, and it wascold to the touch. It soaked through the boy's clothing, but he stuck to his task, and brought in the dead wood bythe armful. At the third load he met Bill Breakstone, who hailed him cheerily.

"Well, you do make me ashamed of myself, SirKnight of the Dripping Forest," he said. "When weawoke and found you already up and at work, weconcluded that it was time for us to imitate so good anexample. Ugh, how cold this rain is, and we five hundredmiles from an umbrella!"

Phil was compelled to laugh, and then the laugh madehim feel better. But it was a morning that might welloppress the bravest. The wet wood was lighted withextreme difficulty, and then it smoked greatly under therain. It was hard to do the cooking, and breakfast wasnot satisfying. But Phil refused to make any complaint.With the rain in his face, he spoke cheerfully of sunshineand warm dry plains.

"We ought to strike the plains of Texas to-morrow orthe next day," said Bill Breakstone. "I've been throughthis region before, and I don't think I'm mistaken.Then we'll get out of this. If it's a long lane that has noturning, it's one just as long that has no end."

They started late, and deep depression hung over thetrain. The men no longer sang or made jokes at theexpense of one another, but crouched upon their horses orthe wagon seats, and maintained a sullen silence. Philwas on horseback, but he dried himself at one of the fires, and with the blanket wrapped around his body he wasnow fairly well protected. It was hard to maintain apleasant face, but he did it, and Middleton, whom allnow usually called Cap, looked his approval.

They advanced very slowly through thickets and acrossemail streams, with mists and vapors so dense that theycould see but little ahead. They did not make more thanseven or eight miles that day, and, wet and miserable, they camped for the night. The guard was stillmaintained, and Phil was on duty that night until twelve.When midnight came he crawled into the wagon, depressed and thoroughly exhausted. But he slept well, and the next morning the rain was over. The mists andvapors were gone, and a beautiful sun was shining. Allof Phil's good spirits came back as he sprang out of thewagon and looked at the drying earth.

The whole camp was transformed. The cooking firesburned ruddily and with a merry crackle. The men sangtheir little songs and made their little jokes. They toldone another joyously that they would be out of the forestsoon and upon the open prairies. They would be inTexas-Texas, that wonderful land of mystery andcharm; Texas, already famous for the Alamo and SanJacinto. The fact that this Texas was filled with dangerstook nothing from the glow at their hearts. Phil sharedin the general enthusiasm, and cried with the others,"Ho for Texas!"

Arenberg's face became very grave.

"Do not be carried away with the high feelings thatrun to the head," he said. "No harm iss done wherenone iss meant, but it iss a long road across Texas, andthere iss no mile of it which does not have its dangers.Who should know better than I?"

"You speak the truth," said Middleton. "I oftenthink of that Comanche, Black Panther, whose face Philsaw in the thicket."

"You are right to speak of it," said Bill Breakstone."I have been in the West. I have spent years there. Ihave been in places that no other white man has everseen, and just when you think this West, beyond thewhite man's frontier, is most peaceful, then it is mostdangerous. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, was a dreamykind of fellow, but when the time came he was a holyterror."

Phil was impressed, but in a little while it seemed tohim that it could scarcely be so. The threat containedin Black Panther's face was fading fast from his mind, and danger seemed to him very far. His exuberance ofspirit was heightened by the easy journey that they nowhad through a forest without any undergrowth. Thewagons rolled easily over short, young grass, and thethick boughs of the trees overhead protected them fromthe sun.

"Do you know the country, Bill?" asked Middleton.

"I think so," replied Breakstone. "Unless I'mmightily mistaken, and I don't think I am, this forestends in four or five miles. Then we come right out onthe genuine Texas plain, rolling straight; away forhundreds of miles. I think I'll take Phil here and rideforward and see if I'm not right. Come, Phil!"

The two galloped away straight toward the West, and,as the forest offered no difficulties, they were notcompelled to check their speed. But in less than an hourBreakstone, who was in advance, pulled his horse backsharply, and Phil did the same.

"Look, Phil!" exclaimed Breakstone, making a widesweep with his hands, while face and eyes were glowing,"See, it is Texas!"

Phil looked. None could have been more eager thanhe was. The hill seemed to drop down before themsheer, like a cliff, but beyond lay a great gray-greenwaving sea, an expanse of earth that passed under thehorizon, and that seemed to have no limit. It was treeless, and the young grass had touched the gray of winter withfresh green.

"The great plains!" exclaimed Phil. He felt an intensethrill. He had at last reached the edge of this vastregion of mystery, and to-morrow they would enter it.

"Yes, the great plains," said Bill Breakstone. "Anddown here, I think, is where our wagons will have topass." He turned to the left and followed a gentle slopethat led to the edge of the plains. Thus, by an easydescent, they left the forest, but when they turned backPhil's eye was caught by a glittering object:

"Look, Bill!" he exclaimed. "See the arrow! Whatdoes it mean?"

An arrow with a deeply feathered shaft had beenplanted deep in an oak tree. Evidently it had beenfired from a bow by some one standing on the plain, andit was equally evident that a powerful hand had drawnthe string. It stood out straight and stark as if it wouldstay there forever. Bill Breakstone rode up to it andexamined it critically.

"It's a Comanche arrow, Phil," he said, "and, between you and me, I think it means something:

		"An arrow I see
		Stuck in a tree,
		But what it does mean
		Has not yet been seen-

"Especially when it's coupled with the fact that yousaw Black Panther's face in the thicket. I may have animaginative mind, Sir Philip of the Forest, soon to beSir Philip of the Plain, but this arrow I take to be ourfirst warning. It tells us to turn back, and it may havebeen fired by Black Panther himself, late Knight of theLevee and of Strong Drink."

"Will we turn back?" asked Phil somewhat anxiously.

Bill Breakstone laughed scornfully.

"Do you think a crowd like ours would turn back fora sign?" he asked. "Why, Phil, that arrow, if it ismeant as a threat, is the very thing to draw them on. Itwould make them anxious to go ahead and meet thosewho say they must stop. If they were not that kind ofmen, they wouldn't be here."

"I suppose so," said Phil. "I, for one, would notwant to turn back."

He rode up to the tree, took the arrow by the shaft, and pulled with all his might. He was a strong youth, but he could not loosen it. Unless broken off, it was tostay there, a sign that a Comanche warning had beengiven.

"I knew you couldn't move it," said Bill Breakstone."The Indians have short bows, and you wouldn't thinkthey could get so much power with them, but they do.It's no uncommon thing for a buck at close range to sendan arrow clear through a big bull buffalo, and it takespowerful speed to do that."

They rode back, met the advancing line of wagons, and told what they had seen, to which the men themselves,as they came to the edge of the prairie, were ableto bear witness. Yet they were not greatly impressed.Those who believed that it meant a challenge gaylyaccepted it as Breakstone had predicted.

"Let the Comanches attack, if they will," they said, shaking their rifles. Even the face of the quietMiddleton kindled.

"It's a good spirit our men show," he said to thethree who were his chosen comrades, "but I knew thatthey would never turn back because of an Indian threat."

The train advanced slowly down into the plain, andthen began its march across the vast, grayish-greenexpanse. The traveling was very easy here, and they madeseven or eight miles over the rolling earth before theystopped at sunset. Phil, looking back, could still seethe dark line of the hilly country and the forest, butbefore him the prairie rolled away, more than ever, as thetwilight came, like an unknown sea.

The camp was beside a shallow stream runningbetween low banks. They built their fires of cottonwoodand stunted oaks that grew on either side, and then Philsaw the darkness suddenly fall like the fall of a greatblanket over the plains. With the night came a low, moaning sound which Bill Breakstone told him wasmerely the wind blowing a thousand miles without abreak.

Phil took his turn at guard duty the latter half of thatnight, walking about at some distance from the camp, now and then meeting his comrades on the same duty, and exchanging a word or two. It was very dark, andthe other sentinels were not in the best of humor, thinking there was little need for such a watch, and Phil byand by confined himself strictly to his own territory.

Although his eyes grew used to the darkness, it wasso heavy that they could not penetrate it far, and heextended his beat a little farther from the camp. Hethought once that he heard a light sound, as of footsteps, perhaps those of a horse, and in order to be certain, remembering an old method, he lay down and put his earto the ground. Then he was quite sure that he heard asound very much like the tread of hoofs, but in amoment or two it ceased. He rose, shaking his headdoubtfully, and advanced a little farther. He neither saw norheard anything more, and he became convinced that thefootsteps had been those of some wild animal. Perhapsa lone buffalo, an outlaw from the herd, had beenwandering about, and had turned away when the human odormet his nostrils.

He returned toward the camp, and something coldpassed his face. There was a slight whistling sounddirectly in his ear, and he sprang to one side, as if hehad narrowly missed the fangs of a rattlesnake. Heheard almost in the same instant a slight, thuddingsound directly in front of him, and he knew instinctivelywhat had made it. He ran forward, and there was anarrow sticking half its length in the ground. Theimpulse of caution succeeded that of curiosity. RememberingBill Breakstone's teachings, he threw himself flatupon the ground, letting his figure blend with thedarkness, and lay there, perfectly still. But no other arrowcame. Nothing stirred. He could not make out amongthe shadows anything that resembled a human figure, although his eyes were good and were now trained to thework of a sentinel. Once when he put his ear to theearth he thought he heard the faint beat of retreatinghoofs, but the sound was so brief and so far away that hewas not sure.

Phil felt shivers, more after he lay down than whenthe arrow passed his cheek. It was the first time that adeadly weapon or missile had passed so close to him, fired perhaps with the intent of slaying him, and no boycould pass through such an experience without quiversand an icy feeling along the spine.

But when he lay still awhile and could not detect thepresence of any enemy, he rose and examined the arrowagain. There was enough light for him to see that thefeathered shaft was exactly like that of the arrow theyhad found in the tree.

He pulled the weapon out of the ground and examinedit with care. It had a triangular head of iron, withextremely sharp edges, and he shuddered again. If ithad struck him, it would have gone through him as BillBreakstone said the Comanche arrows sometimes wententirely through the body of a buffalo.

He took the arrow at once to the camp, and showed itto the men who were on guard there, telling how thisfeathered messenger-and he could not doubt that it wasa messenger-had come. Woodfall and Middleton wereawakened, and both looked serious. It could not be anyplay of fancy on the part of an imaginative boy. Herewas the arrow to speak for itself.

"It must have been the deed of a daring Comanche,"said Middleton with conviction. "Perhaps he did notintend to kill Phil, and I am sure that this arrow, likethe first, was intended as a threat."

"Then it's wasted, just as others will be," saidWoodfall. "My men do not fear Comanches."

"I know that," said Middleton. "It is a strongtrain, but we must realize, Mr. Woodfall, that theComanches are numerous and powerful. We must makeevery preparation, all must stay close by the train, andthere must be a strict night watch."

He spoke in a tone of authority, but it fitted so wellupon him, and seemed so natural that Woodfall did notresent it. On the contrary, he nodded, and then addedhis emphatic acquiescence in words.

"You are surely right," he said. "We must tightenup everything."

This little conference was held beside some coals of acooking fire that had not yet died, and Phil waspermitted to stand by and listen, as it was he who hadbrought in the significant arrow. The coals did not givemuch light, and the men were half in shadow, but theboy was impressed anew by the decision and firmnessshown by Middleton. He seemed to have an absolutelyclear mind, and to know exactly what he wanted. Philwondered once more what a man of that type might beseeking in the vast and vague West.

"I'll double the guard," said Woodfall, "and no manshall go out of sight of the train. Now, Bedford, myboy, you might go to sleep, as you have done your partof a night's work."

Phil lay down, and, despite the arrow so vivid inmemory, he slept until day.




CHAPTER III

AT THE FORD


As Phil had foreseen, his latest story of warning founduniversal credence in the camp, as the arrow washere, visible to all, and it was passed from handto hand. He was compelled to tell many times how ithad whizzed by his face, and how he had found itafterward sticking in the earth. All the fighting qualities ofthe train rose. Many hoped that the Comanches wouldmake good the threat, because threat it must be, andattack. The Indians would get all they wanted andplenty more.

		"The Comanche arrow has been shot,
		For us it has no terror;
		He can attack our train or not,
		If he does, it's his error,"

chanted Bill Breakstone in a mellow voice, and a dozenmen took up the refrain: "He can attack our train or not,if he does, it's his error."

The drivers cracked their whips, the wagons, in adouble line, moved slowly on over the gray-green plains.A strong band of scouts preceded it, and another, equallyas strong, formed the rear-guard. Horsemen armed withrifle and pistol rode on either flank. The sun shone, anda crisp wind blew. Mellow snatches of song floated awayover the swells. All was courage and confidence. Deeperand deeper they went into the great plains, and the lineof hills and forest behind them became dimmer anddimmer. They saw both buffalo and antelope grazing, a mileor two away, and there was much grumbling becauseWoodfall would not let any of the marksmen go inpursuit. Here was game and fresh meat to be had for thetaking, they said, but Woodfall, at the urgent insistenceof Middleton, was inflexible. Men who wandered fromthe main body even a short distance might never comeback again. It had happened too often on former expeditions.

		"Our leader's right.
		A luckless wight
		Trusting his might
		Might find a fight,
		And then good night,"

chanted Bill Breakstone, and he added triumphantly:

"That's surely good poetry, Phil! Five lines allrhyming together, when most poets have trouble to maketwo rhyme. But, as I have said before, these plains thatlook so quiet and lonely have their dangers. We mustpass by the buffalo, the deer, and the antelope, unless wego after them in strong parties. Ah, look there! Whatis that?"

The head of the train was just topping a swell, andbeyond the dip that followed was another swell, ratherhigher than usual, and upon the utmost crest of thesecond swell sat an Indian on his horse, Indian and horsealike motionless, but facing the train with a fixed gaze.The Indian was large, with powerful shoulders and chest, and with an erect head and an eagle beak. He was of abright copper color. His lips were thin, his eyes black, and he had no beard. His long back hair fell down onhis back and was ornamented with silver coins andbeads. He wore deerskin leggins and moccasins, sewedwith beads, and a blue cloth around his loins. The rest ofhis body was naked and the great muscles could be seen.

The warrior carried in his right hand a bow about onehalf the length of the old English long bow, made of thetough bois d'arc or osage orange, strengthened andreinforced with sinews of deer wrapped firmly about it. Thecord of the bow was also of deer sinews. Over his shoulderwas a quiver filled with arrows about twenty inches inlength, feathered and with barbs of triangular iron. Onhis left arm he carried a circular shield made of twothicknesses of hard, undressed buffalo hide, separated byan inch of space tightly packed with hair. His shieldwas fastened by two bands in such a manner that itwould not interfere with the use of the arm, and it wasso hard that it would often turn a rifle shot. Hanging athis horse's mane was a war club which had been made bybending a withe around a hard stone, weighing about twopounds, and with a groove in it. Its handle of wood, about fourteen inches in length, was bound with buffalohide.

Apparently the warrior carried no firearms, usingonly the ancient weapons of his tribe. His horse was amagnificent coal black, far larger than the ordinaryIndian pony, and he stood with his neck arched as if hewere proud of his owner. The Indian's gaze and mannerwere haughty and defiant. It was obvious to every one, and a low murmur ran among the men of the train. Philrecognized the warrior instantly. It was Black Panther,no longer the sodden haunter of the levee in the whiteman's town, but a great chief on his native plains. Phillooked at Middleton, who nodded.

"Yes," he said, "I know him. He has, of course, been watching us, and knows every mile of our march.Unless I am greatly mistaken, Phil, this is the thirdwarning."

Woodfall had ridden up by the side of Middleton, andthe latter said that Black Panther would probably speakwith them.

"Then," said Woodfall, "you and I, Mr. Middleton, will ride forward and see what he has to say."

Phil begged to be allowed to go, too, and they consented.Woodfall hoisted a piece of white cloth on theend of his rifle, and the Indian raised his shield in agesture of understanding. Then the three rode forward.The whole of the wagon train was massed on the swellbehind them, and scores of eyes were watching intentlyfor every detail that might happen.

The Indian, after the affirmative gesture with theshield, did not move, but he sat erect and motionless likea great bronze equestrian statue. The blazing sunlightbeat down upon horse and man. Every line of thewarrior's face was revealed-the high cheek-bone, the massivejaw, the pointed chin, and, as Phil drew nearer, theexpression of hate and defiance that was the dominant noteof his countenance. Truly, this Black Panther of theslums had undergone a prairie change, a wonderful changethat was complete.

Woodfall, Middleton, and Phil rode slowly up thesecond swell, and approached the chief, for such theycould not doubt now that he was. Still he did not move, but sat upon his horse, gravely regarding them. Philwas quite sure that Black Panther remembered him, buthe was not sure that he would admit it.

"You wish to speak with us," said Middleton, who insuch a moment naturally assumed the position of leader.

"To give you a message," replied Black Panther ingood English. "I have given you two messages already, and this is the third."

"The arrows," said Middleton.

"Yes, the Comanche arrows," continued the chief."I thought that the white men would read the signs, andperhaps they did."

"What do you wish of us?" said Middleton. "Whatis this message which you say you now deliver for thethird time?"

The chief drew himself up with a magnificent gesture, and, turning a little, moved his shield arm with a widesweeping gesture toward the West.

"I say, and I say it in behalf of the great Comanchenation, 'Go back.' The country upon which you comebelongs to the Comanches. It is ours, and the buffaloand the deer and the antelope are ours. I say to youturn back with your wagons and your men."

The words were arrogant and menacing to the lastdegree. A spark leaped up in Middleton's eye, but herestrained himself.

"We are but peaceful traders going to Santa Fé," hesaid.

"Peaceful traders to-day, seizers of the land to-morrow,"said the Comanche chief. "Go back. The wayover the Comanche country is closed."

"The plains are vast," said Middleton mildly. "Onecan ride hundreds of miles, and yet not come to the end.Many parts of them have never felt the hoof of a Comanchepony. The plains do not belong to the Comanches or toanybody else."

"They are ours," repeated the chief. "We tell youto go back. The third warning is the last."

"If we still come on, what would you do?" said Middleton.

"It is war," replied Black Panther. "You will notreach Santa Fé, and you will not go back to New Orleans.The Comanches will welcome you to their plains with thearrows from their bows and the bullets from their rifles."

"Be it so," said Middleton, continuing his calm, eventone. "We have not come so far merely to turn back.The Comanche welcome of bullets and arrows may greetus, but we are strong men, and for any welcome that maybe given to us we shall always repay. Is it not so,Mr. Woodfall?"

Woodfall nodded.

"Give that answer to your tribe," said Middleton, speaking in firm tones, and looking the chief squarely inthe eyes. "We have started to Santa Fé, and there we go.The Comanche nation has not enough warriors to turn usback."

A spark of fire seemed to leap from the chief's eye, but he made no other demonstration.

"I have given you the third and last warning," hesaid. "Now I go."

He raised the shield in a sort of salute, and, withouta word, turned and rode away. The three sat on theirhorses, looking at him. When he had gone about twohundred yards he paused a moment, fitted an arrow tohis bow, shot it almost straight up into the air, and then, uttering a long fierce whoop, galloped away over theplain.

The Indian's cry was sinister, ominous of great dangers, and its meaning sank deeply on Phil's heart. Apeculiar shiver ran down his backbone, and the littlepulses in his temples began to beat. He did not doubtfor a moment that the warning of the Comanche was blackwith storm. He watched the sinister figure becomingsmaller and smaller, until it turned into a dark blur, thena dot, and then was seen no more in the vast, gray-greenexpanse.

The incident seemed to have sunk deep into the mindsof the other two, also, and they rode gravely and insilence back to the train, which was now drawn up in onegreat group on the crest of the swell. The men, keenborderers most of them, had divined the significance ofwhat they saw, but they crowded around the three formore definite information. Woodfall told them briefly.He knew their temper, but he thought it best to put thequestion and to put it fairly.

"Men," he said, "we are undoubtedly threatenedwith an attack. The Comanches are numerous, brave, and cunning. I will not conceal from you those facts.A fight with them will mean loss to us, and, even if wewin that fight, as I am sure we will, they will attackagain. Now, if any want to turn back, let them do so.All who wish to go back, say 'I'."

He paused. There was a dead silence throughout thetrain. The corners of Woodfall's lips curved a little intoa slow smile.

"Those who wish to go on, Comanche or no Comanche, say 'Yes,'" he cried.

A single "Yes" was thundered out from scores ofthroats, and many of the more enthusiastic raised theirrifles and shook them.

"I thought so," said Woodfall quietly, and then headded in a louder voice: "Forward!"

Fifty whips cracked like so many rifle shots. Thewagons creaked and moved forward again, and by theirside rode the armed horsemen. They descended the slope, rose to the crest of the next swell, where the Comanchehorseman had stood, and then passed on, over wave afterwave into the unbroken gray-green expanse of the West.There was nothing before them but the plains, with abunch of buffalo grazing far off to the right, and a herdof antelope grazing far off to the left. The ominous spellthat the Indian had cast seemed to have vanished withhim so far as the great majority of the men wereconcerned. But Phil and his immediate comrades did notforget.

"The words of that Indian, as you have deliveredthem to me, linger in my mind, young Sir Philip of thePlains," said Bill Breakstone, "but I am glad he tookthe trouble to give us a warning. A stitch in time maysave the lives of nine good men.

		"Give me the word
		That harm you mean,
		Then my good sword
		I take, I ween.

"At least that poem is short and to the point, SirPhilip. And now I think me that to-morrow about thenoon hour, if we should maintain our present pace, wecross a river known variously to the different Indiantribes, but muddy, deep, and flowing between highbanks. The crossing will be difficult, and I ought to tellWoodfall about it."

"By all means," said Middleton, "and I can tellyou, Breakstone, that I already wish we were safely onthe other side of that river."

They camped that night in the open plain. Therewas a good moonlight, but the watch was doubled, themost experienced frontiersmen being posted as sentinels.Yet the watchers saw nothing. They continuously madewide circles about the camp, but the footprint of neitherman nor horse was to be seen. The day dawned, coldand gray with lowering skies, and, before the obscure sunwas an hour above the plain, the train resumed itsmarch, Woodfall, Middleton, Breakstone, Phil, andArenberg riding in a little group at the head.

"How far on do you say is this river?" asked Woodfall.

"We should strike it about noon," replied Breakstone, repeating his statement of the day before. "It is narrowand deep, and everywhere that I have seen it the banksare high, but we ought to find somewhere a slope for acrossing."

"Is it wooded?" asked Middleton.

"Yes, there are cottonwoods, scrub oaks, bushes, andtall grass along either bank."

"I'm sorry for that," said Woodfall.

Phil knew perfectly well what they meant, but he kept, silent, although his heart began to throb. The otherthree also fell silent, and under the gray, lowering skythe spirits of the train seemed to sink. The men ceasedto joke with one another, and no songs were sung. Philheard only the tread of the horses and the creak of thewagons.

An hour or two later they saw a dim black linecutting across the plain.

"The trees along the banks of the river," said BillBreakstone.

"And they are still two or three miles away," saidWoodfall.

The leader rode among his men and spoke with them.The train moved forward at the same speed, drawingitself like a great serpent over the plain, but there was aclosing up of the ranks. The wagons moved more closelytogether, and every driver had a rifle under his feet.The horsemen rode toward the head of the train, heldtheir rifles across the pommels of their saddles, andloosened the pistols in their holsters. Phil was conscious ofa deep, suppressed excitement, an intensity of expectation, attached to the dark line of trees that now rosesteadily higher and higher out of the plain.

An old buffalo hunter in the train now recalled theriver, also, and, after studying the lay of the landcarefully, said that they would find a ford about two milesnorth of the point toward which the head of the trainwas directed. The course was changed at once, and theyadvanced toward the northwest.

"Do you think anything is going to happen, Bill?"asked Phil, speaking for the first time.

"Do you feel kind of tingly in your blood?" askedBreakstone, not replying directly.

"I tingle all over," said Phil frankly.

"I'm tingling a bit myself," said Breakstone, "andI've spent a good many years in the wilderness. Yes,Phil, I think something is going to happen, and I thinkyou and me and the Cap and Arenberg ought to sticktogether."

"That is well spoken," said Middleton. "We arechosen comrades, and we must stand by one another.See how the trees are drawing nearer."

The black line now stood up level with the earth, andthe trees became detached from one another. They couldalso see the thick undergrowth hiding the river, whichseemed to flow in a deep gash across the plain. Middletontook from his saddlebags a pair of strong glasses, and, as they rode on, examined the double line of treeswith the minutest scrutiny. Then he lowered the glasses, shaking his head.

"I can't make out anything," he said. "Nothingmoves that I can see. There is no sign of human life."

"The Comanche iss cunning," said Arenberg. "Harmiss done where harm iss meant, but I for one am willingto meet him."

The mild German spoke in such a tone of passionthat Phil was startled and looked at him. Arenberg'sblue eyes shone with a sort of blue fire, and he wasunconsciously pressing his horse ahead of the others. Itwas evident, even to one as young as Phil, that he wasstirred to his utmost depths. The boy leaned over andwhispered to Breakstone:

"He must have some special cause to hate theComanches. You know he was in that massacre at NewBraunfels."

"That's so," said Breakstone,

		"When you feel the savage knife,
		You remember it all your life."

"These mild men like Arenberg are terrible when theyare stirred up, Phil. 'Still waters run deep,' whichsounds to me rather Irish, because if they are still theydon't run at all. But it's good all the same, and, between you and me, Phil, I'd give a lot if we were on theother side of this river, which has no name in thegeographies, which rises I don't know where, which emptiesinto I don't know what, and which belongs to I don'tknow whom. But, be that as it may, lay on, Macduff, and I won't be the first to cry 'Hold, enough!'"

The train took another curve to the northward, approaching the ford, of which the old scouts told. Theswells dipped down, indicating a point at which the banksof the river were low, but they could still see the doubleline of trees lining either shore, and the masses of bushesand weeds that extended along the stream. But nothingstirred them. No wind blew. The boughs of the cottonwoods, live oaks, and willows hung lifeless under thesomber sky. There was still no sign of human presenceor of anything that lived.

But the men of the train did not relax their caution.They were approaching now up a sort of shallow troughcontaining a dry sandy bed, down which water evidentlyflowed during the wet season into the river. It, also, forthe last half mile before it reached the main stream, hadtrees and bushes on either shore. Middleton suggestedthat they beat up this narrow strip of forest, lest theywalk straight into an ambush. Woodfall thought theidea good, and twenty men scouted the thickets. Theyfound nothing, and many in the train began to feelincredulous. That Comanche had been a mere boaster.He was probably still galloping away over the prairie, putting as much distance as he could between himself andthe Santa Fé train. But Middleton yet distrusted. Heseemed now to be in every sense the leader of the train, and he did it so quietly and with such indirection thatWoodfall took him to be an assistant, and felt no offense.At his prompting, strong bodies of skirmishers werethrown forward on either bank of the dry creek bed, andnow, increasing their pace somewhat, they rapidly drewnear the river.

It still seemed to Phil that nothing could happen. Itwas true that the skies were gray and somber, but therewas no suggestion of an active and hostile presence, andnow the river was only a hundred yards away. From hishorse's back he could see the surface of the stream-narrow, muddy, and apparently deep. But on the hither shorethere was a gradual slope to its waters, and another of thesame kind on the farther bank seemed to lead up amongthe trees.

"It ain't so deep as it looks," said an oldfrontiersman. "'Bout four feet, I should say. It'll just 'bouthit the bottoms o' our wagon beds."

The stream itself was not more than twenty yardswide. One could pass it in a few minutes, if nothingwas thrown across the way, and Phil now began to feelthat the unspoken alarm was false. But just when thefeeling became a conviction and the wagons were not morethan twenty yards from the river, he saw somethinggleaming in the brush on the far shore. It was the dyedfeather of an eagle, and it made a blood red spot againstthe green bushes. Looking closely Phil saw beneath thefeather the light copper face of an Indian, and then heknew that the Comanches were there.

Scarcely a second after he saw the coppery face, ahurricane of arrows whistled from the covert on the farshore. The short shafts of the Comanches filled the air.Mingled with them was the sharp crashing of rifles, andbullets and arrows whistled together. Then came thelong yell of the Comanches, from scores of throats, highpitched, fierce, defiant, like the scream of a savage beastabout to leap upon its prey. In spite of all his resolution,Phil felt that strong shiver in every nerve from headto heel. Some of the shafts were buried to the feather inthe bodies of the horses and mules, and a terrible tumultarose as the animals uttered their screaming neigh andfought and kicked in pain and terror. Nor did the menescape. One, pierced through the throat by a deadlybarb, fell lifeless from his horse. Another was strickenin the breast, and a dozen were wounded by either arrowsor bullets.

The train was thrown into confusion, and the driverspulled back on their lines. Sure death seemed to hoverin front of them. The greatest danger arose from thewounded and frightened horses, which plunged andstruggled and tried to break from their harness, but the handson the lines were strong, and gradually they were reducedto order. The wagons, also, were driven back a little, and then the triumphant Comanches sent forth their warwhoop again and again. The short shafts once more flew inshowers, mingled as before with the whistling of thebullets, but most of the missiles, both arrows and bullets, fell short. Now the Comanches appeared thickly amongthe bushes, chiefly on foot, their horses left at the edge ofthe timber, and began to make derisive gestures.

It seemed to Phil that the crossing of the river wasimpossible in the face of such a fierce and numerous foe, but Middleton and Woodfall had been conferring, andsuddenly the Cap, to use his more familiar name amongthe men, whirled off to the south at the head of a hundredhorsemen. He waved his hand to his three partners, and they galloped with the band.

"There must be another crossing, not as good as this, but still a crossing," said Bill Breakstone. "If at firstyou don't succeed, then try, try again."

This flanking movement was hidden from theComanches on the other shore by the belt of timber on theside of the train, and the horsemen galloped along rapidlyin search of a declivity. Phil's heart was thumping, andspecks floated before his eyes, but he was well among theforemost, and he rode with them, stride for stride.Behind him he heard the crackle of rifle shots, the shouts ofthe Comanches, and the defiant replies of the white men.

"Keep a good hold on your rifle, Phil!" shouted BillBreakstone in his ear. "If the gods whisper truly to me,we will be in the water soon, and, by my faith, you'llneed it."

The Captain uttered a shout of joy. They had cometo a place where the bank sloped down to the river andthe opposite shore was capable of ascent by horses.

"Into the river, men, into the river!" he shouted."The horses may have to swim, but we can cross it! Wemust cross it before the main Indian force comes up!"

The whole troop galloped into the water. Middletonshouted to them to keep their rifles dry, and every manheld his above his head or on his shoulder. The muddywater splashed in Phil's face, but he kept by the side ofBreakstone, and in a few moments both their horses wereswimming.

"Let the horse have his head, Phil," said Breakstone."He'll make for the nearest land, and you canuse both your hands for the work that we now haveto do."

Phil dropped the rein, and the horse swam steadily.They were now about the middle of the stream, which waswider here than at the ford. Two or three brown facessuddenly appeared in the brash on the bank in front ofthem, and the savage cry arose. Comanche skirmishershad discovered the flank movement, but the white troopwas already more than half way across. Bullets werefired at the swimming men and horses. Some struck inflesh, but others dashed up jets of yellow foam.

"On! On!" cried Middleton. "We must gain the bank!"

"On! On!" cried Phil, borne on by excitement."We must gain the bank!"

He was carried away so much by the fire and movementof the moment that he did not feel fear. His bloodwas tingling in every vein. Myriads of red specksdanced before him. The yellow water splashed all abouthim, but he did not notice it. An arrow whizzed by hischeek, and two bullets struck near, but he continued tourge his horse, which, gallant animal, was already doinghis best. Some of the white men, even from the unsteadyposition of a swimming horse's back, had begun to fire atthe Indians in the brush. Phil heard Bill Breakstoneutter a deep sigh of satisfaction as he lowered the muzzleof his rifle.

"Got one," said Bill. "It's good to be zealous, butthat Comanche ought to have known more than to runsquare against a rifle bullet."

The feet of Phil's horse touched earth, and he beganto wade. Everything now depended upon an instant ortwo. If they could gallop up the declivity before theComanches could arrive in force they would secure a greatadvantage. But the Comanches were coming rapidly, andthe fire from their bows and rifles increased. The whitemen, now that their position was steadier, also fired morerapidly. Phil sent a bullet at a bronze figure that he sawdarting about in the undergrowth, but he could not tellwhether or not he had hit.

"On!" shouted Middleton. "Give them no chance!Rush the slope!"

They were out of the river now, and in among thebushes and weeds. But they did not stop there. Drippingwith the yellow water, streaked sometimes with red, they rode straight at the Comanches, shouting and firingwith both rifles and pistols. The Indian skirmishersgave way, and, jumping upon their ponies, gallopeddown the stream to the main ford. The white menuttered a cry of exultation. They were now on thewestern bank, and the flank movement was a complete success.

"Follow them!" shouted Middleton. "We must presshome the attack upon the main body!"

Ahead of them the Comanches, bent low on theirmustangs, were galloping over the plain. Behind came thewhite men, hot with the fire of battle and urging on theirhorses. Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg rode kneeto knee, the boy between. He was wet from head to footwith splashed water, but he did not know it. A bullethad touched the tip of one ear, covering it with blood, but he did not know that, either. There was no crueltyin his nature, but just now it thrilled with battle. Hesought a shot at the flying Comanches, but they were toofar away.

"Hold your fire,"' said Bill Breakstone. "The battleis not over yet by any means. A job that's half finishedisn't finished at all."

They heard now the shots at the ford above them anda tremendous shouting. Evidently the two forces werefiring at each other across the stream, and the wagons didnot yet dare the passage. A few moments later they sawthe smoke of the rifles and brown figures darting aboutthe thickets.

"Now, boys!" shouted Middleton. "All together!A great cheer!"

A mighty shout was poured forth from three scorethroats, and Middleton waved his felt hat about his head.From the eastern bank came an answering cry, and thesignal was complete. Woodfall and the others with thetrain knew that their comrades were across, and now wasthe time for them to force the passage. Phil saw thewhite tops of the wagons shake. Then the wagons themselvesrolled slowly forward into the water, with horsemenin front of them and on the flanks, firing at the Indianson the bank. The Comanches sent a shower of bulletsand arrows upon the advancing line, but in anotherinstant they were compelled to turn and defend themselves.Middleton and his victorious troop were thundering downupon them.

The attack upon their flank came so swiftly that theComanches were taken by surprise. As their own skirmishersfled, the white force galloped in upon their heels.Yet these bold warriors, kings of the plains, victors inmany a battle over other tribes and Mexicans, fought witha courage and tenacity worthy of their race andtraditions. They were marshaled, too, by a chief who hadreturned to his own, the great Black Panther, and by ableassistants.

Middleton's daring men met a storm of arrows ambullets, but they charged on, although some saddles wereemptied. They were at the edge of the timber now, the mounted white men poured in a deadly fire. Thesound of the shots became a steady, incessant cracklePuffs of smoke arose, and, uniting, formed a canopy ofvapor. The odor of gunpowder spread and filled thenostrils of the combatants. Shots, the trampling of hoofs, the cries of the wounded and dying rung upon the drumsof their ears.

It was a terrific medley, seemingly all confusion, butreally fought with order by skilled leaders. BlackPanther had one half of his warriors to face the wagons andhorsemen in the river and the other half faced south tobeat off Middleton's troop, if it could. He himselfpassed from one to another, encouraging them by everyart that he knew, and they were many.

But it was Middleton's men who gave the deathblow.They struck so hard and so often that it was continuallynecessary for Black Panther to send more of his warriorsto the defense of his flank. The firing upon the wagonsand horsemen in the river slackened, and they rushedforward. The horsemen gained the bank, and, at thesame time, Middleton's men charged with greater firethan ever. Then the horsemen from the ford rushed upthe ascent and joined in the attack. Compressed betweenthe two arms of a vise, the Comanches, despite everyeffort of Black Panther and his chiefs, gave way. Yetthey did not break into any panic. Springing on theirhorses, they retired slowly, sending back flights of arrowsand bullets, and now and then uttering the defiant warwhoop.

Meanwhile, the last of the wagons emerged from theriver, and was dragged up the ascent. Although theComanches might yet shout in the distance, the crossingwas won, and everybody in the train felt a mighty senseof relief.




CHAPTER IV

ON WATCH


The wagons drew up in a great square on the openplain, but just at the edge of the timber, and themen, breathless, perspiring, but victorious, droppedfrom their horses. The Comanches still galloped to andfro and shouted in the distance, but they kept well out ofrifle shot, and Phil, although it was his first battle, knewthat they would not attack again, at least not for thepresent. They had been driven out of an extremely strongposition, ground of their own choosing, and nothingremained to them but to retire.

The boy stood by the side of his horse, holding thebridle in one hand and the rifle in the other. He wasstill trembling from the excitement of forcing the fordand the battle among the trees, but the reddish mistbefore his eyes was gradually clearing away. He let thebridle rein drop, and put his hand to his face. It cameaway damp and sticky. He looked at it in an incuriousway to see if he were wounded, but it was only dust andthe smoke of burned gunpowder, kneaded together byperspiration. Then he felt cautiously of his body. Nobullet or arrow had entered.

"Unhurt, Phil?" boomed out the voice of Bill Breakstonebeside him. "So am I, and so is Middleton.Arenberg got a scratch, but he's forgotten it already.But, I trow, Sir Philip of the River, that was indeed acombat while it lasted!

		"The Comanches shot
		With spirit hot,
		But now, they're not.

"You can't say anything against that poem, Phil; it'sshort and to the point. It's true that the Comanches arenot entirely gone, but they might as well be. Let 'emshout out there in the plain as much as they choose, they're going to keep out of rifle range. And Icongratulate you, Phil, on the way you bore yourself throughyour first 'baptism of fire.'"

"I thank you, Bill," said Phil, "but the fact is, Idon't know just how I bore myself. It's been more like adream than anything else."

"That's likely to happen to a man the first time underfire, and the second time, too, but here we are on theright side of the river and ready for a breathing spell."

Phil threw the reins over his horse's neck, knowingthat the latter would not leave the camp, and set to work, helping to put everything in order, ready for fight or rest, whichever the Comanches chose to make it. The wagonswere already in a hollow square, and the wounded, at leasttwenty in number, laid comfortably in the wagons, werereceiving the rude but effective treatment of the border.Seven or eight had been killed, and three or four bodieshad been lost in the current of the stream. They werenow digging graves for the others. Little was known ofthe slain. They were wandering, restless spirits, andthey may or may not have been buried under their ownnames. They had fallen in an unknown land beside anunknown river, but their comrades gave all due honor asthey put them beneath the earth. Middleton said a fewwords over the body of each, while others stood by withtheir hats off. Then they smoothed out the soil abovethem as completely as possible, in order that their gravesmight be lost. They took this precaution lest theComanches come after they had gone, take up the bodies, and mutilate them.

When the solemn task was done, the men turned awayto other duties. They were not discouraged; on thecontrary, their spirits were sanguine. The gloom of theburial was quickly dispelled, and these wild spirits, theirfighting blood fully up, were more than half willing forthe Comanches to give them a new battle. It was suchas these, really loving adventure and danger more thanprofit, who steadily pushed forward the southwesternfrontier in the face of obstacles seemingly insuperable.

Their position at the edge of the wood, with the strongfortification of the wagons, was excellent, and Middletonand Woodfall, after a short consultation, decided toremain there until morning, for the sake of the woundedmen and for rest for all. Phil worked in the timber, gathering up fallen fuel for fires, which were built in thecenter of the hollow square, and he found the work arelief. Such a familiar task steadied his nerves. Graduallythe little pulses ceased to beat so hard, and his headgrew cool. When enough dead wood had been broughtin, he took another look at the western horizon.Comanches could still be seen there, but they no longergalloped about and shouted. A half dozen sat motionless ontheir ponies, apparently looking at the white camp, theirfigures, horse and rider, outlined in black tracery againstthe blood-red western sun. Phil had a feeling that, although beaten at the ford, they were not beaten for goodand all, and that the spirit of Black Panther, far frombeing crushed, would be influenced to new passions andnew attack. But, as he looked, the Comanche horsemenseemed to ride directly into the low sun and disappear.The hard work that had kept him up now over, he feltlimp, and sank down near one of the fires.

"Here, Phil, drink this," said Bill Breakstone, handinghim a cup of hot coffee. "It has been a pretty hardday on the nerves, and you need a stimulant."

Phil swallowed it all, almost at a draught-never hadcoffee tasted better-and his strength came back rapidly.Breakstone, also, drank a cup and sat down beside theboy.

"Here comes Arenberg," he said in a low tone to Phil."That German was a very demon to-day. He got rightinto the front of the charge, and after his rifle was emptyhe clubbed it and brought down one of the Comanches."

Phil looked up. Arenberg's face was still set in astern, pitiless mask, but when his eyes caught the boy'she relaxed.

"It iss a good day well spent," he said, throwinghimself down by the side of the two. "We never couldhave forced the ford if we had not made that flankmovement. Harm wass meant by both sides and harm wassdone. But it iss over now. How does the young HerrPhilip feel?"

"Pretty good now," replied Phil, "but I've had myups and downs, I can tell you. A little while ago I feltas if there were no backbone in me at all."

Food was now cooked, and, after eating, the threerelapsed into silence. Presently Middleton, also, joinedthem, and told them that very thorough preparations hadbeen made to guard against a surprise. Sentinels onhorseback were already far out on the plain, riding awatchful round which would be continued all through thenight.

"It is easy to guard against surprise on that side,"said Middleton, "but snipers may creep down the riverbank in the timber. We must keep our best watchthere."

"I'll go on duty," said Philip promptly.

"Not yet," replied Middleton. "You may beneeded late in the night, in which case we'll call on you, but our most experienced borderers don't think theComanches will come back."

"You can never trust them," said Arenberg earnestly.

"We don't mean to," said Middleton. "Now, Phil,I'd advise you to wrap yourself in your blanket and go tosleep. On a campaign it's always advisable to sleepwhen you're off duty, because you never know when youwill get the chance again."

It seemed to Phil that it was impossible to sleep, afterso much excitement and danger, but he knew thatMiddleton was speaking wise words, and he resolved to try.There were yet hours of daylight, but, putting his blanketbeneath him, he lay before one of the fires with his armunder his head and closed his eyes. He would openthem now and then to see the yellow flames, the figures ofthe men moving back and forth, and the circle of wagonsbeyond. He could not make himself feel sleepy, but heknew that his nerves were relaxing. Physically he felt asoothing languor, and with it came a mental satisfaction.He had helped to win his first battle, and, like the olderand seasoned men around him, the victory encouragedhim to bid further defiance to the Comanches or anythingelse that threatened.

These reflections were so grateful that he foundhimself able to keep his eyes shut longer. It was notso much of an effort to pull the eyelids down, and when,at intervals steadily growing more distant, he opened hiseyes, it was to find the fires and figures of the menbecoming dim, while the circling line of the wagonsbeyond was quite lost. At last the eyelids stayed downof their own accord, and he floated away into a sleep thatwas deep, sweet, and refreshing.

Others in the camp slept, also, some in the wagons andsome on the ground, with saddles for pillows. Thosewhose duty it was to watch paid no attention to them, but beat up the brush incessantly, and kept up theirendless circles on the plains. The somber clouds that hadobscured the morning floated away, driven back by a lateafternoon sun of uncommon splendor. The gray-greenplains turned to a brilliant red and gold; the willows, cottonwoods, and oaks seemed sheathed in gold, everybough and twig; the muddy river took on richgleaming tints, and then suddenly the sun was gone, leaving all in darkness, save for the smoldering fires.

Phil slept soundly hour after hour. He was soexhausted physically and mentally that the relaxation wascomplete. No dream good or bad came to trouble him, and Breakstone, who observed his peaceful face, said toMiddleton:

"Talk about knitting up the raveled sleeve of care.That boy is knitting up both sleeves at the same time, and he is knitting them fast."

"He is a good lad," said Middleton, "and a braveone, too. It was his first battle, but he certainly borehimself well. Now I wonder what search is bringing himout here into the wilderness."

"And I guess he, too, often wonders the same about us."

"Just as I have wondered it about you, and as youhave wondered it about me."

"But we find it best-every one of us-to keep oursearch to ourselves for the present."

"It is surely best."

The two men looked at each other rather significantly, and then talked of other things.

Phil was awakened at midnight to take his turn at thewatch. The night, as it is so often on the plains ofTexas, even in summer, was cold, and he shivered a littlewhen he drew himself out of his warm blankets. Thefires were nearly out, leaving only a few coals that didnot warm, and few figures were moving except outside thecircle. His body told Phil that he would much rathersleep on, but his mind told him with greater force thathe must go ahead and do his duty with a willing heart, asteady hand, and a quick eye. So he shook himselfthoroughly, and was ready for action. His orders wereto go in the timber a little to the northward and watchfor snipers. Three others were going with him, but theywere to separate and take regular beats.

Phil shouldered his rifle and marched with his comrades.They passed outside the circles of wagons, andstood for a few moments on the bare plain. Afar off theysaw their own mounted sentinels who watched to thewestward, riding back and forth. The moon was cold, and a chill wind swept over the swells, moaningdismally. Phil shivered and was glad that he had a watchon foot in the timber. His comrades were willing tohasten with him to that shelter, and there they arrangedtheir beats. The belt of timber was about a hundredyards wide, with a considerable undergrowth of bushesand tall weeds. They cut the hundred yards into aboutfour equal spaces, and Phil took the quarter next to theriver. He walked steadily back and forth over the twenty-fiveyards, and at the western end of his beat he regularlymet the next sentinel, a young Mississippian namedWelby, whom Phil liked. They exchanged a few wordsnow and then, but, save their low tones, the monotonousmoaning of the wind among the trees, and an occasionalsigh made by the current of the river, which here flowedrather swiftly, there was no sound. On the opposite bankthe trees and bushes reared themselves, a wall of darkgreen.

The chill of the night grew, but the steadywalking back and forth had increased the circulation andwarmed the blood in Phil's veins, and he did not feel it.His long sleep, too, had brought back all his strength, and he was full of courage and zeal. He had suffered areaction after the battle, but now the second reactioncame. The young victor, refreshed in mind and body, feared nothing. Neither was he lonely nor awed by thevast darkness of night in the wilderness. The words thathe spoke with Welby every few minutes were enough tokeep him in touch with the human race, and he reallyfelt content with himself and the world. He had donehis duty under fire, and now he was doing his dutyagain.

He paused a little longer every time he came to theriver, and forcing his mind now to note every detail, hewas impressed by the change that the stream hadundergone. There was a fine full moon, and the muddytorrent of the day was turned into silver, sparkling morebrightly where the bubbles formed and broke. Thestream, swollen doubtless by rains about its source, flowedrapidly with a slight swishing noise. Phil looked upand down it, having a straight sweep of several hundredyards either way. Now and then the silver of its surfacewas broken by pieces of floating debris, brought doubtlessfrom some far point. He watched these fragmentsas they passed, a bough, a weed, or a stump, or the entiretrunk of a tree, wrenched by a swollen current from somecaving bank. He was glad that he had the watch next tothe river, because it was more interesting. The river wasa live thing, changing in color, and moving swiftly. Itssurface, with the objects that at times swept by on it, was a panorama of varied interest.

Besides Welby he saw no living creature. The campwas hidden from him completely by the trees and bushes, and they were so quiet within the circle of the wagonsthat no sound came from them. An hour passed. Itbecame two, then three. Vaporous clouds floated by themoon. The silver light on the river waned. The currentbecame dark yellow again, but flowing as ever with thatsoft, swishing sound. The change affected Phil. Theweird quality of the wilderness, clothed in dark, madeitself felt. He was glad when he met Welby, and theylingered a few seconds longer, talking a little. He cameback once more to the river, now flowing in a torrentalmost black between its high banks.

He took his usual long survey of the river, both upand down stream. Phil was resolved to do his full duty, and already he had some experience, allied with facultiesnaturally keen. He examined the opposite bank withquestioning eyes. At first it had seemed a solid wall ofdark green, but attention and the habit of the darknessnow enabled him to separate it into individual trees andbushes. Comanches ambushed there could easily shootacross the narrow stream and pick off a white sentinel, but he had always kept himself well back in his ownbushes, where he could see and yet be hidden.

His gaze turned to the river. Darker substances, driftfrom far banks, still floated on its surface. The windhad died. The branches of the trees did not move at all, and, in the absence of all other sound, the slight swishingmade by the flowing of the river grew louder. Hiswandering eyes fastened on a small stump that was comingfrom the curve above, and that floated easily on thesurface. Its motion was so regular that his glance stayed, and he watched it with interested eyes. It was anindependent sort of stump, less at the mercy of the currentthan the others had been. It came on, bearing in towardthe western bank, and Phil judged that if it kept itspresent course it would strike the shore beneath him.

The black stump was certainly interesting. He lookedfarther. Four feet behind it was floating another stumpof about the same size, and preserving the same direction, which was a diagonal line with the current. That was acoincidence. Yet farther was a third stump, showing allthe characteristics of the other two. That was remarkable.And lo! when a fourth, and then a fifth, and thena sixth came, a floating line, black and silent, it was aprodigy.

The first black stump struck lightly against the bank.Then a Comanche warrior, immersed hitherto to the chin, rose from the stream. The water ran in black bubblesfrom his naked body. In his right hand he held a longknife. The face was sinister, savage, and terrible beyondexpression. Another of the stumps was just rising fromthe stream, but Phil fired instantly at the first face, andthen sprang back, shouting, "The Comanches." He didnot run. He merely sheltered himself behind a tree, andbegan to reload rapidly. Welby came running throughthe bushes, and then the others, drawn by the shout. Ina minute the timber was filled with armed men.

"What is it? What is it? What did you shoot at?"they cried, although the same thought was in the minds ofevery one of them.

"The Comanches!" replied Phil. "They came swimmingin a line down the river. Their heads looked likeblack stumps on the water! I fired at the first themoment he rose from the stream! I think it was their planto ambush and kill the sentinels!"

Bill Breakstone was among those who had come, andhe cried:

"Then we must beat them off at once! We must notgive them a chance to get a footing on the bank!"

They rushed forward, Phil with them, his rifle nowreloaded, and gazed down at the river. They heard nonoise, but that slight swishing sound made by thecurrent, and the surface of the stream was bare. The riverflowed as if no foreign body had ever vexed its current.Fifty pairs of eyes used to the wilderness studiedthe stream and the thickets. They saw nothing. Fiftypairs of ears trained to hear the approach of dangerlistened. They heard nothing but the faint swishingsound that never ceased. A murmur not pleasant toPhil, arose.

"I've no doubt it was a stump, a real stump," one ofthe older men said.

A deep flush overspread Phil's face.

"I saw a Comanche with long black hair rise from thewater," he said.

The man who had spoken grinned a little, but theexpression of his face showed that doubt had solidified intocertainty.

"A case of nerves," he said, "but I don't blame youso much, bein' only a boy."

Phil felt his blood grow hot, but he tried to restrainhis temper.

"I certainly saw a Comanche," he said, "and therewere others behind him!"

"Then what's become of all this terrible attack?"!asked the man ironically.

"Come! Come!" said Woodfall. "We can't havesuch talk. The boy may have made a mistake, but theincident showed that he was watching well, just what wewant our sentinels to do."

Phil flushed again. Woodfall's tone was kindly, buthe was hurt by the implication of possible doubt andmistake. Yet Woodfall and the others had ample excusefor such doubts. There was not the remotest sign of anenemy. Could he really have been mistaken? Could ithave been something like a waking dream? Could hisnerves have been so upset that they made his eyes seethat which was not? He stared for a full minute at theempty face of the river, and then a voice called:

"Oh, you men, come down here! I've something toshow you!"

It was Bill Breakstone, who had slipped away fromthem and gone down the bank. His voice came from apoint at least a hundred yards down the stream, and themen in a group followed the sound of it, descending theslope with the aid of weeds and bushes. Bill wasstanding at the edge of a little cove which the water hadhollowed out of the soft soil, and something dark lay at hisfeet.

"I dragged this out of the water," he said. "It wasfloating along, when an eddy brought it into this cove."

They looked down, and Phil shut off a cry with hisclosed teeth. The body, a Comanche warrior, entirelynaked, lay upon its back. There was a bullet hole in thecenter of the forehead. The features, even in death, wereexactly those that the boy had seen rising from the water, sinister, savage, terrible beyond expression. Phil felt acold horror creeping through all his bones, but it was thelook of this dead face more than the fact that he hadkilled a man. He shuddered to think what so muchmalignant cruelty could have done had it gained the chance.

"Well, men," said Bill Breakstone quietly, "was thestory our young friend here told such stuff as dreams aremade on, or did it really happen?"

"The boy told the truth, and he was watching well,"said a half dozen together.

The old frontiersman who had so plainly expressedhis disbelief in Phil-Gard was his name-extended hishand and said to the lad:

"I take it all back. You've saved us from an ambushthat would have cost us a lot of men. I was a fool.Shake hands."

Phil, with a great leap of pride, took the profferedhand and shook it heartily.

"I don't blame you, Mr. Gard," he said. "Thingscertainly looked against me."

"The Comanches naturally took to flight when theirleader was killed," said Woodfall. "They could notcarry through such an attempt without surprise, but goodeyes stopped them."

Phil's heart leaped again with pride, but he saidnothing. They climbed back up the slope, and the guardin the timber was tripled for the short time until day.Phil was told that, as he had already done so much, hemight go off duty now.

He was glad enough to seek rest, and so rapidly washe becoming used to danger that he lay down calmlybefore one of the fires and went to sleep again. He awoketwo or three hours later to a crisp fresh morning, and tothe news that the train would promptly resume itsadvance, whether or not Comanches tried to bar the way.With the intoxicating odor of victory still in theirnostrils, the hardy frontiersmen were as willing as ever foranother combat. But the enemy had disappearedcompletely. A brilliant sun rose over the gray-green swells, disclosing nothing but a herd of antelope that grazed farto the right.

"The antelope mean that no Comanches are near,"said Arenberg. "The warriors will now wait patientlyand a long time for a good opportunity. Sometimesmuch harm iss done where much iss intended."

"That is so," chanted Bill Breakstone.

		"Over the plains we go,
		Our rifles clear the way.
		The Indians would say no.
		Our band they cannot stay.

"As I have often remarked before, Phil, my poetrymay be defective in meter and some other small technicalities, but it comes to the point. That, I believe, wasthe characteristic of Shakespeare, also. I agree, too, with Arenberg, that the Comanches will not trouble usagain for some time. So, I pray thee, be of good cheer,Sir Philip of the Merry Countenance, Knight of theBattle beside the Unknown River, Slayer of Comanches inthe Dark, Guardian of the Public Weal, et cetera, etcetera."

"I am cheerful," said Phil, to whom Breakstone wasalways a tonic, "and I believe that we can beat off theComanches any time and every time."

"Jump on your horse," said Breakstone, a little later;"we're all ready."

Phil leaped into the saddle with one bound. Thetrain moved forward, and he and Breakstone joinedMiddleton and Arenberg at its head. Middleton had powerfulglasses, and he swept the plain far ahead, and to rightand left. His gaze finally settled on a point to thesouth-west. The others followed his look with great interest, but the naked eye could see nothing but the rollinggray-green plains and the dim blue horizon beyond. Middletonlooked so long that at last Bill Breakstone asked:

"What do you see?"

"I do not see anything that I can really call living,"replied Middleton, "but I do see a knoll or slightelevation on the plain-what would be called farther north abutte-and on that knoll is a black blur, shapeless andunnamable at this distance."

"Does the black blur move?" asked Bill Breakstone.

"I cannot tell. It is too far even for that, but fromit comes a beam of brilliant light that shifts here andthere over the plain. Take a look, Bill."

Breakstone eagerly put the glasses to his eyes, andturned them upon the knoll.

"Ah, I see it!" he exclaimed. "It's like a ball oflight! There it goes to the right! There it goes to theleft! Now it falls in our direction! What in the nameof Shakespeare's thirty-five or forty plays is it, Cap?"

"Let me have the glasses, I want another look,"replied Middleton.

His second look was a long one taken in silence. Atlast he replied:

"It's a signal, lads. I've seen the Comanches talk toone another in this way before. A Comanche chief issitting on his horse on top of that knoll. He holds arounded piece of looking-glass in the hollow of his hand, and he turns it in such a way that he catches the veryconcentrated essence of the sun's rays, throwing a beama tremendous distance. The beam, like molten gold, nowstrikes the grass on top of a swell off toward the north.It's a secret just how they do it, for not yet has anywhite man learned the system of signals which they makewith such a glass. Ah!"

The "Ah!" came forth, so deep, so long drawn, andso full of meaning that Phil, Arenberg, and BillBreakstone exclaimed together:

"What is it?"

"I would not have known that the black blur on topof the knoll was a chief on horseback if I had not beenon the Texas plains before," replied Middleton, "butnow I can make out the figures of horse and man, as heis riding around and around in a circle and riding veryrapidly."

"What does that mean?" asked Phil.

"It means danger, not to us, but to the Comanches.The warrior is probably signaling to a band of his tribewho are meditating attack upon us that we are toostrong."

"Then it must be some fresh band," said Bill Breakstone,"because the one that had the little encounter withus yesterday knew that already."

"I take it that you're right," said Middleton, smiling and closing the glasses. "The second band won'tmolest us-not to-day."

"That seems to be a very effective way of signaling,"remarked Phil.

"On the plains, yes," said Middleton. "It is astonishinghow far such a vivid beam of light will carry, asthe crest of the knoll was too high for it to be interceptedby the swells."

Middleton told Woodfall what they had seen. Theleader's chin stiffened a little more, and the wagons wenton at the same pace, trailing their brown length acrossthe prairie.

About ten o'clock the march became difficult, as theyentered a town, but such a town! Its inhabitants wereprairie dogs, queer little animals, which darted down intotheir burrows at the approach of the horsemen andwagons, often sharing the home with a rattlesnake. Butthe horsemen were now compelled to proceed with exceedingcare, as the horses' feet often sank deep down in thedens. Stumbles were frequent and there were severalfalls. Wagon wheels, also, sank, and the advancebecame so difficult that Woodfall halted the train and sentPhil and some others to find a way around the town.

They rode five or six miles to the south, and still thesingular town stretched away, apparently endless. Thenthey came back and rode five or six miles to the northwith the same result. Acting upon the advice ofMiddleton, Woodfall, after hearing these reports, decided togo straight on through the town. It was known that suchtowns had been found twenty-five miles long, and thismight be as large. So they went directly ahead. Theriders dismounted and led their horses. Three timesPhil killed coiling rattlesnakes with the butt of his rifle, but he did not seek to molest any of the prairie dogs.

They moved very slowly, and it was three hours beforethey crossed the prairie dog town, leaving behind themsome destruction, but not more than they could help.

"Well, Sir Philip of the Prairie Dogs, what name areyou going to give to the populous community throughwhich we have just passed?" asked Breakstone.

"I suppose Canine Center will do as well as anyother," replied Phil.

"A wise selection, my gay youth," replied Bill Breakstone."But these animals, properly speaking, are notdogs, they are more like rats. I'm glad we've passed'em. It isn't pleasant to have your horse put his foot inone of their dens and shoot you over his head. The goodhard plain for me."

He cantered forward, and Phil cantered with him, raising his head and breathing the pure air that blew oversuch vast reaches of clean earth. He felt the bloodleaping in his veins again from mere physical happiness.He began to whistle gayly, and then to sing "Open thylattice, love," a song just coming into favor, written bythe man who became yet more famous with "OldKentucky Home" and "Suwanee River." Phil had a fine, fresh, youthful voice, and Breakstone listened to him ashe sang through two verses. Then he held up his hand, and Phil stopped.

"What's the trouble?" asked the boy.

"I don't object to your song, Phil, and I don't objectto your singing, but it won't be a good time for love toopen the lattice; it will be better to close it tight. Don'tyou feel a change in the air, Phil? Just turn your faceto the northwest, and you'll notice it."

Phil obeyed, and it seemed to him now that the airstriking upon his cheek was colder, but he imagined thatit was due to the increasing strength of the wind.

"I do not care if the wind is a little cold," he said."I like it."

		"The wind is cold,
		And you are bold;
		The sky turns gray
		You're not so gay;
		And by and by
		For sun you'll sigh,"

chanted Bill Breakstone, and then he added:

"See that gray mist forming in a circle about the sun, and look at that vapor off there in the northwest. ByGeorge, how fast it spreads! The whole sky is becomingovercast! Unroll your blanket, Phil, and have it readyto wrap around you I The whole train must stop andprepare!"

Bill Breakstone turned to give his warning, but others, too, had noticed the signals of danger. The commandstop was given. The wagons were drawn rapidly intocircle, and just as when the danger was Indians, insteadof that which now threatened, all the horses and muleswere put inside the circle. But now all the men, also, took their station inside, none remaining outside as guard.The wind meanwhile rose fast, and the temperaturefell with startling rapidity. The edge of the blast seemedto be ice itself. Phil, who was helping with the corral ofwagons, felt as if it cut him to the bone. He fullyappreciated Bill Breakstone's advice about the blanket.The day also was swiftly turning dark. The sun wasquite gone out. Heavy clouds and masses of vaporformed an impenetrable veil over all the sky. Now, besides the cold, Phil felt his face struck by fine particlesthat stung. It was the sand picked up by the wind, perhaps hundreds of miles away, and hurled upon them inan enveloping storm.

Phil pulled down his cap-brim and also sheltered hiseyes as much as he could with his left arm.

"It's the Norther," cried Breakstone. "Listen to it!"

The wind was now shrieking and howling over theplains with a voice that was truly human, only it was likethe shout of ten thousand human beings combined. Butit was a voice full of malice and cruelty, and Phil wasglad of the companionship of his kind.

The cold was now becoming intense, and he rapidlydrew the blanket about his body. Then he suddenly benthis head lower and completely covered his eyes with hisarm. It was hailing fiercely. Showers of white pellets, large enough to be dangerous, pounded him, and, as thedarkness had now increased to that of night, he gropedfor shelter. Bill Breakstone seized him by the arm andcried:

"Jump into the wagon there, Phil! And I'll jumpafter you!"

Phil obeyed with the quickness of necessity, andBreakstone came in on top of him. Middleton andArenberg were already there.

"Welcome to our wagon," said Arenberg, as Phil andBreakstone disentangled themselves. "You landed onone of my feet, Phil, and you landed on the other, Bill, but no harm iss done where none iss meant."

Phil cowered down and drew his blanket more closelyaround him, while the hail beat fiercely on the archedcanvas cover, and the cold wind shrieked and moanedmore wildly than ever. He peeped out at the front of thewagon and beheld a scene indescribable in its wild andchilling grandeur. The darkness endured. The hail wasdriven in an almost horizontal line like a sheet of sleet.The wagons showed but dimly in all this dusk. Theanimals, fortunately, had been tethered close to thewagons, where they were, in a measure, protected, butmany of them reared and neighed in terror and suffering.One look satisfied Phil, and he drew back well under cover.

"How often does this sort of thing happen in Texas?"he asked Arenberg.

"Not so often," replied the German, "and thisNorther, I think, is the worst I ever saw. The cold windcertainly blows like der Teufel. These storms must starton the great mountains far, far to the north, and I thinkthey get stronger as they come. Iss it not so, HerrBreakstone?"

"Your words sound true to me, Sir Hans of the BeerBarrel," replied Breakstone. "I've seen a few Northersin my time, and I've felt 'em, but this seems to me to beabout the most grown-up, all-around, healthy and friskyspecimen of the kind that I ever met."

Phil thought that the Norther would blow itself out inan hour or two, but he was mistaken. Several hourspassed and the wind was as strong and as cold as ever.The four ate some cold food that was in the wagon, andthen settled back into their places. No attempt would bemade to cook that day. But Phil grew so warm and snugin his blanket among the baggage, and the beating ofthe rain on the stout canvas cover was so soothing, thathe fell asleep after awhile. He did not know how longhe slept, because when he awoke it was still dark, thewind was still shrieking, and the other three, as he couldtell by their regular breathing, were asleep, also. He feltso good that he stretched himself a little, turned on theother side, and went to sleep again.




CHAPTER V

THE COMANCHE VILLAGE


The Norther did not blow itself out until noon of thenext day. Then it ceased almost as abruptly as ithad begun. The wind stopped its shrieking andhowling so suddenly that the silence, after so long aperiod of noise, was for awhile impressive. The cloudsfell apart as if cut down the middle by a saber, and thesun poured through the rift.

It was like a fairy transformation scene. The riftwidened so fast that soon all the clouds were gone beyondthe horizon. The sky was a solid blue, shot through withthe gold of the warm sun. The hail melted, and theground dried. It was spring again, and the world wasbeautiful. Phil saw, felt, and admired. Bill Breakstoneburst into song:

		"The Norther came,
		The Norther went.
		It suits its name,
		Its rage is spent.

"From the looks of things now," he continued, "youwouldn't think it had been whistling and groaningaround us for about twenty-four hours, trying to shoot usto death with showers of hail, but I'd have you to know,Sir Philip of the Untimely Cold and the Hateful Storm, that I have recorded it upon the tablets of my memory.I wouldn't like to meet such a Norther when I was aloneon the plains, on foot, and clad in sandals, a linen suit, and a straw hat."

"Nor I," said Phil with emphasis.

Now they lighted fires of buffalo chips which wereabundant everywhere, and ate the first warm food thatthey had had since the day before at noon. Then theyadvanced four or five miles and encamped on the banksof a creek, a small stream of water flowing in a broad, sandy bed. Phil and some of the others scouted in awide circle for Comanches, but saw no signs, and, as hehad slept so late that day, the boy remained awake mostof the night. There was a good moonlight, and he sawdusky slinking forms on the plain.

"Coyotes," said Bill Breakstone. "At least, most ofthem are, though I think from their size that two or threeof those figures out there must be timber wolves. If I'mright about 'em, it means that we're not far from a beltof forest country."

"I hope you're right," said Phil. "I'm gettingtired of plains now, and I'd like to see trees and hillsagain, and also water that runs faster and that's lessmuddy than these sluggish and sandy creeks."

Bill Breakstone threw back his head and laughed withunction.

"That's the way with fellows who were born in thehills," he said. "Wherever you go, sooner or later you'llpine for 'em again. I'm one of that lot, too."

"Yes, it's so," admitted Phil. "I like the greatplains, the vastness, the mystery, and the wonderful airwhich must be the purest in the world, that's alwaysblowing over them, but for a real snug, homey feelinggive me a little valley in the hills, with a brook ofgreen-white water about six inches deep running down it, andplenty of fine trees-oak, beech, hickory, elm, walnut, and chestnut-growing on the slopes and tops of the hills."

"A pretty picture, Sir Philip of the Brook, the Hill, the Valley, and the Tree," said Bill Breakstone, "andmaybe we will see it soon. As I told you, timber wolvesindicate trees not far off."

But the chief event that day was buffaloes and nottimber. They ran into a vast herd, traveling north withthe spring, and killed with ease all they wanted. Thebodies were cut up, and the wagons were filled with freshmeat. There was a momentary quandary about thehides, which they wished to save, a process that requiredimmediate curing, but they were unwilling to stop forthat purpose on the plain. Two of the scouts came in atsundown with news that the timber was only three or fourmiles ahead, and the whole train pushed forward, reachingit shortly after nightfall.

The wagons stopped just within the edge of the timber, but Phil, Breakstone, Arenberg, and Middleton rodeon, the night being so clear and bright that they couldsee almost as well as by day. The first range of hills waslow, but beyond lay others, rising perhaps two hundredfeet above the level of the plain. The timber on all thehills and the valleys between was dense and heavy, embracing many varieties of hard wood, elm, hackberry, overcup, ash, pecan, and wild china. There were alsothe bushes and vines of the blackberry, gooseberry, raspberry, currant, and of a small fox grape, plentifulthroughout the mountains of Texas. The fox grape grew on alittle bush like that of the currant, and growing inabundance was another bush, from two to six feet in height, that would produce wild plums in the autumn.

"It's a good country, a fine country," said BillBreakstone. "A man could live all the year around on thefood that he would find in this region, buffalo andantelope on the plains, deer and maybe beaver in here, and allsorts of wild fruits."

Phil nodded. He was reveling in the hills and timber.The moonlight fell in a vast sheet of silver, but thefoliage remained a solid mass of dark green beneath it.A tremulous little wind blew, and the soft sound of freshyoung leaves rubbing together came pleasantly. A faintnoise like a sigh told of a tiny stream somewhere tricklingover the pebbles. Phil opened his eyes as wide as hecould and drew in great gulps of the scented air. Bigbronze birds, roused by the tread of the horsemen, rosefrom a bough, and flew away among the trees. Theywere wild turkeys, but the lad and his comrades were notseeking game just then. Bill Breakstone, who was inadvance, stopped suddenly.

"Come here, Sir Philip of the Hilly Forest," he cried,"and see what uncle has found for his little boy."

Phil rode up by his side and uttered a little gasp ofadmiration. As he sat on his horse, he looked into aravine about two hundred feet deep. Down the center ofthe ravine dashed a little mountain river of absolutelyclear water. It was not more than twenty feet wide, butvery deep. As Breakstone said, "it ran on its side," butit ran along with much murmur and splash and laughterof waters. Often as the swift current struck the stonysides of the ravine it threw up little cascades of foam likesnow. The banks themselves, although of stone, werecovered most of the way with clustering vines and shortgreen bushes. The crest of the farther bank was woodedso heavily with great trees that they were like a wall.Farther down, the stream descended with increasedswiftness, and a steady murmuring noise that came to themindicated a waterfall. The brilliant moonlight bathedthe river, the hills, and the forest, and the great silencebrooded over them all. Middleton and Arenberg alsocame, and the four side by side on their horses sat forawhile, saying nothing, but rejoicing in a scene so vividand splendid to them, after coming from the monotony ofthe great plains.

"I'd like to drop off my horse after a hot day's ride,"said Bill Breakstone, "and have some of that river runover me. Wouldn't that be a shower-bath for a tired anddusty man!"

"It's likely to be ice-cold," said Middleton.

"Why so?" asked Phil.

"Because it rises somewhere high up. There must bemountains to the northward, and probably it is fed mostof the year by melting snows. I think Bill would haveenough of his bath very quickly."

"If I get a chance, and there is any way to get downto that stream, I may try it to-morrow," said Billthreateningly.

"Meanwhile, we'll ride back and tell what we'veseen," said Middleton.

"Isn't there any danger of Indian ambush in thetimber?" asked Phil.

"I don't think so," replied Middleton. "TheComanches are horse Indians, and keep entirely to theplains. The other tribes are too much afraid of theComanches to remain near them, and in consequencethe edge of a hilly stretch such as this is likely to bedeserted."

They rode back to the wagons and found that thecooking fires were already lighted, and their cheerful blazewas gleaming among the trees. Everybody else, also, was delighted at being in the timber, where clear waterflowed past, and most of the wounded were able to get outof the wagons and sit on the grass with their comrades.Woodfall decided that it was a good place in which tospend a few days for rest, repairs, and the hunting ofgame, as they wanted other fresh meat besides that of thebuffalo.

The next morning they began to cure the buffalo hidesthat they had already obtained. A smooth piece ofground, exposed all day to the rays of the sun, waschosen. Upon this the skin was stretched and peggeddown. Then every particle of the flesh was scraped off.After that, it was left about three days under the rays ofthe sun, and then it was cured. Twenty-five skins weresaved in this manner, and, also, by the same method ofdrying in the sun, they jerked great quantities of thebuffalo meat.

But Middleton, Arenberg, Breakstone, and Philturned hunters for the time. They found that the hillregion was very extensive, timbered heavily, andabundant in game. They hunted wholly on foot, and foundseveral places where the ravine opened out, at which theycould cross the little river by walking, although the waterrose to their waists.

They had great luck with the game, shooting a halfdozen splendid black-tailed deer, a score of wild turkeys, and many partridges, quail, and grouse. Bill Breakstone, according to his promise, bathed in the river, andhe did it more than once. He was also joined by hiscomrades, and, as Middleton had predicted, they foundthe water ice-cold. No one could stand it more than fiveminutes, but the effect was invigorating.

A great deal of work was done at the camp. Theaxles of wagons were greased, canvas ripped by wind orhail was sewed up again, clothing was patched, and thewounded basked in sun or shade. Two of these haddied, but the rest were now nearly well. All except twoor three would be fit to resume their duties when theystarted again.

Woodfall, knowing the benefit of a complete rest, stilllingered, and Phil and his friends had much time forexploration. They combined this duty with that of thescouting, and penetrated deep into the hills, watchingfor any Comanches who might stray in there, or for themountain tribes. Once they came upon severalabandoned lodges, made partly of skins and partly of brush, but they were falling in ruins, and Bill Breakstonereckoned they were at least two years old.

"Wichitas, Wacos, Kechies, and Quapaws live aroundin the hills and mountains," he said, "and this, I takeit, was a little camp of Kechies, from the looks of thelodges. Two or three groups of them may be lingeringyet in this region, but we haven't much to fear fromthem."

Woodfall, intending at first to make the stay onlyfour or five days, decided now to protract it to ten ortwelve. The journey to Santa Fé was one of tremendouslength and hardship. Moreover, a buffalo hunter, straying in, told them that the Comanches were very activeall over the Texas plains. Hence the Santa Fé trainwould need all its strength, and Woodfall was anxiousthat every one of the wounded should be in fightingcondition when they left the timber. Therefore thedelay.

Phil was glad of the added stay in the hills. He wasdeveloping great skill as a hunter and a trailer, and heand his comrades wandered farther and farther every dayinto the broken forest region toward the north. Oftenesthe and Bill Breakstone were together. Despite the differencein years, they had become brothers of the wilderness.In their scoutings they found available pathways forhorses over the hills and among the great trees, and, starting, one morning, they rode far to the north, coveringthirty or forty miles. Phil was interested in some highmountains which showed a dim blue ahead, and Breakstonewas carefully examining the rock formations. Butas night came on they found that the hills were droppingdown, and the mountains seemed to be about as blue andas far ahead as ever.

"I should judge from these signs," said Breakstone,"that there is a valley or narrow plain ahead, between usand the mountains. But we'll look into that to-morrow.It isn't good to be riding around in the dark over hillsand through thickets."

They found a little grassy open space, where theytethered their horses, leaving them to graze as long asthey wished, and, lighting no fire, they ate jerked buffalomeat. Then they crept into snug coverts under thebushes, wrapped their blankets about them, and fellasleep. Phil opened his eyes at daylight to findBreakstone already awake. The horses were grazingcontentedly. The trees and bushes were already tipped with fireby the gorgeous Texas sun.

"Sir Philip of the Bushes," said Bill Breakstone,"you just lie here and chew up a buffalo or two, while Igo ahead and take a look. As I said last night, thesehills certainly drop down into a plain, and I want to seethat plain."

"All right," said Phil, "I'll stay where I am. It'sso snug in this blanket on a cool morning that I don'tcare to move anyhow, and I can eat my breakfast lyingdown."

He drew out a freshly jerked strip of buffalo meat, and another very tender portion of a black-tailed deer thathe himself had shot, and fell to it. Bill Breakstone, hisrifle held conveniently at his side, slid away among thebushes. Phil ate contentedly. The sun rose higher.The morning was absolutely still. The horses seemed tohave had enough grass, and lay down placidly on theirsides. It occurred to Phil that he, too, had eaten enough, and he put the remainder of the food back in his hunter'sknapsack. Then he began to get drowsy again. It wasso very still. He thought once of rising and walkingabout, but he remembered Breakstone's advice to lie still, and, against his will, he kept it. Then his drowsinessincreased, and, before he was aware of it he was asleepagain.

When Phil awoke the second time, he threw off hisblanket and sprang to his feet in surprise. The sun washigh up in the blue arch. It must be at least ten o'clockin the morning, and Bill Breakstone had not come back.The horses were on their feet and were grazing again.They were proof that nothing had disturbed the glade.But Bill Breakstone was not there. Nor had he comeback and gone away again. If he had done so, he wouldhave awakened the boy. He had been absent three orfour hours, and Phil was alarmed.

The boy stood up, holding his hand on the hammer ofhis rifle. This beautiful day, with its blue skies aboveand its green forest below, oppressed him. It was sostill, so silent, and Bill Breakstone had vanished soutterly, just as if he had been turned into thin air by thewave of a magician's wand! The boy was alone in thewilderness for the first time. Moreover, he felt thepresence of danger, and the queer little shiver which oftencomes at such moments ran through his blood. But theshiver passed, and his courage rose. He had no thoughtof going back to the camp to report that Bill Breakstonewas missing. No, he would find him himself. That washis duty to his comrade.

The boy waited a little longer, standing there in theshade with his rifle ready, and eyes and ears intent. Hestood thus for a quarter of an hour, scarcely moving. Thebrilliant sunshine poured down upon him, bringing outevery line of the strong young figure, illuminating theface which was thrown a little forward, as the blue eyes, gazing intently through the undergrowth, sought someevidence of a hostile presence. Finally the eyes turned tothe horses which were grazing calmly in the full circle oftheir long lariats. Phil decided that such calm on theirpart signified the absence of any enemy. If either manor beast came near they would raise their heads.

Then Phil moved forward through the bushes, puttinginto use all his new skill and caution. The bushes closedsoftly behind him, and he entered a slope covered withgreat trees without undergrowth. His eyes could rangeforward several hundred yards, but he saw nothing. Headvanced for a few minutes, steadily descending, and hewas tempted to shout his loudest or fire off his rifle as asignal to the derelict Bill Breakstone that it was time forhim to come back. But he resisted both temptations, and soon he was glad that he had done so. The slopewas very gradual, and he traveled a full two miles beforehe came to the edge of the woods and saw before him theplain that Bill Breakstone had predicted. He took onelook, and then, springing back, sank down in the covertof the bushes.

Before Phil lay a fairly level plain about a mile inwidth and of unknown length, as in either direction itparsed out of sight among the hills. In the center of itwas a shallow but wide creek which perhaps flowed into thenameless river. The valley was very fertile, as the grasswas already rich and high, despite the earliness of spring.

At the widest point of the valley stood a large Indianvillage, two hundred lodges at least, and Phil could notdoubt that it was a village of the Comanches. Hundredsof ponies, grazing in the meadows to the north, andguarded by boys, proved that they were horse Indians, and no other tribe dared to ride where the Comanchesroamed.

Phil could see far in the dazzling sunlight, and all thenormal activities of human life, that is, of wild life, seemed to prevail in the Comanche village. Evidentlythe warriors had been on a great buffalo hunt. Perhapsthey had struck at another point the same herd intowhich the train had run. Over a wide space buffalohides were pegged down. Old squaws were scraping theflesh from some with little knives, while others, alreadycleaned, were drying in the sun. Vast quantities ofbuffalo meat were being jerked on temporary platforms.Little Indian boys and girls carried in their hand bonesof buffalo or deer, from which they ate whenever they felthungry. Everywhere it was a scene of savage plenty andenjoyment, although signs of industry were not whollylacking, even among the warriors. Many of these, sitting on the grass, were cleaning their rifles or makingnew bows and arrows. Now and then one would make atest, sending into the air an arrow which some little boywas glad to run after and bring back. At another pointa number of boys were practicing at a target with smallbows and blunt-headed arrows. Two warriors on theirponies came up the valley, each carrying before him thebody of a black-tailed deer. They were received withshouts, but soon disappeared with their spoils among thelodges, which were made universally of the skin of thebuffalo. Down at the end of the village some warriors, naked to the breech cloth, danced monotonously back andforth, while an old man blew an equally monotonoustune on a whistle made of the bone of an eagle.

Phil, lying close in his covert, watched with absorbedeyes, and with mind and vision alike quick and keen,he took in every detail. The warriors were tall men, with intelligent faces, aquiline noses, thin lips, blackeyes and hair, and but little beard. The hair grew verylong, as they never cut it, and in many cases it wasornamented with bright beads and little pieces of silver.They wore deerskin leggins or moccasins, and a cloth ofsome bright color, bought from American Mexicantraders, wrapped around the loins. The body from theloin cloth upward was naked, but in winter was coveredwith a buffalo robe. The women were physically verymuch inferior to the men. They were short and withcrooked legs. Moreover, they wore their hair cut close, being compelled to do so by tribal law, the long-hairedComanche men and the short-haired Comanche womenthus reversing the custom of civilization. Both men andwomen wore amulets. The Comanches, like most Indiantribes, were great believers in dreams, and the amuletswere supposed to protect them from such as were bad.

Phil's roving eye lighted upon a small frame structurebuilt of slight poles, the only one in the village not ofhides. Such a building was always to be found in everyComanche village, but he did not know until later that itwas a combined medicine lodge and vapor bath house.It was spherical in shape, and securely covered withbuffalo hides. When a warrior fell seriously ill, he wasseated in this lodge, beside several heated stone ovens, onwhich water was thrown in profusion. Then, while adense, hot vapor arose, the shaman, or medicine man, practiced incantations, while men outside made music onwhistles or the Indian drums. The hot bath was ofteneffective, but the Comanche ascribed at least a part ofthe cure to the medicine man's incantations. YoungComanche men, also, often took a vapor bath before goingon the war path, thinking that it had power to protectthem from wounds.

Then Philip saw to the right a far larger buildingthan that of the vapor bath, although it was made ofdressed skins with just enough poles to support it. Thiswas the medicine lodge of the Comanche village, a buildingused for important purposes, some of which Phil wasto learn soon.

The boy did not doubt that his comrade had beentaken, and, unless killed, was even now a captive in theComanche village. He might be held in that hugemedicine lodge, and the boy's resolution strengthened to thetemper of steel. He could not go back to the trainwithout Bill Breakstone; so he would rescue him. He didnot yet have any idea how, but he would find a way.There were depths of courage in his nature of which hehimself did not know, and springing from this couragewas the belief that he would succeed.

While he yet lay in the covert he saw a band ofIndians, about a dozen in number, riding up the valley.They were apparently visitors, but they were welcomedwith loud cries. The leader of the band, a large manwith brilliant feathers in his hair, replied with a shout. IThen a horseman rode forth to meet him. Even at thedistance Phil recognized the horseman as Black Panther.He, too, was arrayed in his finest, and, as a great crowdgathered, the two chiefs slowly approached each other.When their horses were side by side, Black Pantherleaned over in his saddle, put his head on the other'sshoulder, clasped his arms around his chest, and gavehim a tremendous squeeze. The stranger returned thesalute in kind, and then the two, amid great shouts ofapproval, rode among the lodges, disappearing fromPhil's sight.

Phil watched awhile longer, but he saw nothingexcept the ordinary life of the village. Then he went backto the glen in which the horses were tethered. They werestill grazing, and Bill Breakstone had not returned. Philled them down to a little brook, let them drink, and then, after some thought, took off the lariats, coiled themaround the saddles, and turned the animals loose. Hebelieved they would stay in the glen or near it, as thepasturage was good, and the water plentiful, and thatthey could be found when needed.

Having attended to the horses, he returned to theedge of the forest and sat himself down to think out theplan of his great adventure.

It was his intention to enter the Comanche villagewithout detection, and, hard as such a task seemed tohim, it was even harder in reality. No race more warythan the Comanches ever lived. Besides the boys whohabitually watched the ponies, they had regular details ofwarriors as herdsmen. Other details served as sentriesabout the village, and the adjacent heights were alwaysoccupied by scouts. All these guards were maintainednight and day. Phil could see some of them nowpatrolling, and, knowing that any attempt of his would beimpossible in the daylight, he waited patiently for night.He had with him enough food to last for a day or two, and, choosing a place in the dense covert, he lay down.He called up now all the wilderness lore of Breakstone,Arenberg, Middleton, and the others in the train. Heknew that he must restrain all impulsiveness until theappointed time, and that he must lie without motion lestthe keen eyes of wandering warriors should see the bushesabove him moving in a direction other than that of thewind. He also laid his rifle parallel with his body, inthe position in which it could be used most quickly, andloaded the pistol. It was hardest of all to lie perfectlystill. He wished to turn over, to crawl to a new place, and his bones fairly ached, but he restrained himself.Naturally a youth of strength and determination, hismind took the mastery over his body, and held it fastand motionless among the bushes.

It was well that he controlled himself so completely.Indians came near the edge of the woods, and once someboys passed, driving a herd of ponies. But he croucheda little closer, and they went on. The day was fearfullylong. The high sun poured down a shower of verticalbeams that reached him even in the shelter of the bushes.The perspiration stood out on his brow, and his collarclung to his neck. He envied the freedom of theComanches in the villages and the easy way in whichthey went about the pleasure of savage life. Morewarriors, evidently hunters, came in. Some bore portions ofthe buffalo, and others were loaded with wild turkeys.

In these hard hours the boy learned much. He hadpassed safely through battle. But there one was borneup by the thrill and excitement of the charge, the firingand shouting and the comradeship of his fellows. Herehe was alone, silent and waiting. Enduring such as that, his will achieved new powers. A single day saw themental growth of a year or two.

The sun passed the zenith and crept slowly down thewestern heavens. Welcome shadows appeared in theeast, and the far lodges of the Comanches grew misty.Phil thought now that the village would sink into quiet, but he noticed instead a great bustle, and many peoplegoing about. Squaws bore torches which made a brightcore of flame in the increasing dusk, and Phil was quitesure now that something unusual was going to occur. Itseemed to him that the whole population of the villagewas gathering about the great medicine lodge. It mustbe the beginning of some important ceremony, and thetime to enter the Comanche village was propitious. Heinferred that on such an occasion the guard would berelaxed, at least in part, and as he heard the sound ofhundreds of voices chanting monotonously he preparedfor his great adventure.

The twilight faded, and the night came in its place, thick and dark. The sound of many voices, some singing, some talking, came clearly through the crisp, dryair. The core of light before the medicine lodgeincreased, and, by its radiance, he saw dusky figureshastening toward it to join the great group gathered there.

Phil took off his cap and hid it in the bushes. Hewould be bareheaded like the Comanches, wishing to lookas much like them as possible. Fortunately his hair hadgrown somewhat long, and his face was deeply tanned.Once he thought of stripping to the waist in Comanchefashion, but his body, protected from the sun, was white, and he would be detected instantly.

He spent a little time flexing and stretching hismuscles, because, when he first rose to his feet, he couldscarcely stand, and the blood, choked up in the arteriesand veins, tingled for lack of circulation. But thestiffness and pain soon departed, and he felt stronger thanever before in his life. Then he started.

He advanced boldly into the plain, bent very low, stopping at times to look and listen, and, also, to resthimself. More than once he lay flat upon the groundand allowed his muscles to relax. Once he saw upon hisright two Indian warriors standing upon a knoll. Theywere a part of the night guard, and their figures wereoutlined duskily against the dusky sky. Their faces werenot disclosed. But Phil knew that they were watching-watchingwith all the effectiveness of eye and ear forwhich the Indian is famous. At this point he crawled, and, in his crawling, he was so nearly flat upon hisstomach that his advance was more like a serpent's than thatof anything else.

He left the patrol behind, and then he saw another onhis left, and much nearer to him, two more warriors, whodid not occupy any knoll, but who merely walked backand forth on the flat plain. They were between him andthe great fire, and he saw them very distinctly, tall menof light copper color, with high cheek-bones and longblack hair. Both were armed with rifles, of which theComanches were beginning to obtain a supply, and theirfaces in the glow of the firelight seemed very savage andvery cruel to Phil. Now he flattened himself outentirely, and moved forward in a slow series of writhings, until he had passed them. There was an icy rim aroundhis heart until he left these two behind, but when theywere gone in the darkness his courage leaped up anew.

He now reached the eastern end of the village andcrept among the lodges. They were all deserted. Theiroccupants had gone to witness the ceremony that was nowat hand, whatever it might be. Not a woman, not achild was left. Phil stood up straight, and it was animmense relief to him to do so. It was a relief to the spiritas well as the body. He felt like a human being again, and not some creeping animal, a human being who standsupon his two feet, a human being who has a brain withwhich he thinks before he acts. It was strange, but thismere physical change gave him a further supply ofcourage and hope, as if he had already achieved his victory.

He passed between two lodges and saw a gleam beyond.It was the surface of the wide but shallow creek, showing through the dusk. The banks were five or sixfeet high, and there was a broad bed of sand extendingon either side of the water.

Phil glanced up the stream, and saw that it flowedvery close to the medicine lodge. An idea sprang up atonce in his alert brain. Here was his line of approach.He dropped softly down the bank, taking his chance ofquicksand, but finding instead that it was fairly firm tothe feet. Then, hugging the bank, he advanced withnoiseless tread toward the medicine lodge. Chance andhis own quick mind served him well. His feet did notsink more than a few inches in the sand, and the bankcontinued at its uniform height of about six feet. Hecontinued slowly, pausing on occasion to listen, becausehe could see nothing in the village. But occasional straybeams from the fires, passing over his head, fell upon thecreek, lingering there for a moment or two in a red glow.Above him on the bank, but some distance back, the firesseemed to grow, and the monotonous beat of the singinggrew louder. Phil knew that he was now very near themedicine lodge, and he paused a little longer than usual, leaning hard against the sandy bank with a sort ofinvoluntary impulse, as if he would press his body into it toescape observation.

He looked up and saw two or three boughs projectingover the bank. Then the medicine lodge was somedistance away, perhaps fifteen or twenty yards, and, therefore, the adventure would increase in peril! Anotherglance at the boughs reassured him. Perhaps there wasa little grove between the creek and the medicine lodge, and it would afford him hiding! The largest of theboughs, amply able to support his weight, was not morethan three or four feet above the bank, and, climbingcautiously the sandy slope, he grasped it and drewhimself up. Then he slid along it until he came to the crotchof the tree, where he crouched, holding his rifle in onehand.

He was right in his surmise about the grove, althoughit was narrower than he had supposed, not more thanseven or eight yards across at the utmost. But the treeswere oak, heavy-limbed and heavy-trunked, and theygrew close together. Nevertheless, the light from someof the fires showed through them, and at one side loomedthe dark mass of the medicine lodge. As nearly as hecould see, it was built directly against some of the trees.He crawled from his tree to the one next to it, and thento a third. There he stopped, and a violent fit ofshuddering seized him. The trees were occupied already.




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