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

"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 seeStuck in a tree,But what it does meanHas 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 wightTrusting his mightMight 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.