The Lost Gold of the Montezumas: A Story of the Alamo

by William Osborn Stoddard

  CHAPTER II.

  THE ALAMO FORT.

  "Ugh!"

  Two paths came out within a few yards of each other from the tangledmazes of a vast, green sea of chaparral. For miles and miles extendedthe bushy growth, with here and there a group of stunted trees stickingup from its dreary wilderness. It was said that even Indians mightlose themselves in such a web as that. Not because it was pathless,but because it was threaded by too many paths, without way-marks orguide-boards.

  At the mouth of one of these narrow and winding avenues sat a boy upona mustang pony. At the mouth of the other path, upon a mule not largerthan the pony, sat one of the strangest figures ever seen by that orany other boy. He was short of stature, broad-shouldered, but thin.His head was covered by a broad-brimmed, straw _sombrero_. Below thatwas a somewhat worn _serape_, now thrown back a little to show that healso wore a shirt, slashed trousers, and that in his belt were pistolsand a knife, while from it depended, in its sheath, a _machete_, orMexican sabre. He carried no gun, but the saddle and other trappingsof his mule were very good. He wore top-boots, the toes thrust underthe leather caps of his wooden stirrups, and from his heels projectedenormous, silver-mounted spurs. His hair was as white as snow, and sowere the straggling bristles which answered him for beard andmoustaches.

  He may have been grotesque, but he was not comical, for his face was tothe last degree dark, threatening, cruel, in its expression, and hiseyes glowed like fire under their projecting white eyebrows. He hadwheeled his mule, and he now sat staring at the boy, with a hand uponthe hilt of the _machete_. He did not draw the weapon, for the boy wasonly staring back curiously, not even lowering his long, bright-bladedlance.

  As for him, his clothing consisted of a breech-clout and fringeddeerskin leggings. His belt sustained a quiver of arrows, a bow, and aknife, but he seemed to have no fire-arms. Neither did he wear anyhat, and he rode his mustang with a piece of old blanket in place of asaddle.

  The most remarkable thing about him, upon a closer study, excepting,perhaps, his brave and decidedly handsome face, was his color. Insteadof the tawny darkness common to older Indians, he had retained theclear, deep red which is now and then to be seen among squaws and theirvery young children. He was a splendid specimen, therefore, of a youngred man, and he had now met an old fellow of a race which had neverbeen red. He seemed to know him, also, for he spoke to him at once.

  "Ugh!" he said. "Tetzcatl. Mountain Panther. Young chief, Lipan.Son of Castro. Heap friend."

  The response was in Spanish, and the boy understood it, for he repliedfairly well in the same tongue.

  "Good! Tetzcatl go to the Alamo," he said. "All chiefs there. Whitechiefs. Lipan. Comanche. Castro. Mexican. Heap fighting birds."

  "GOOD! TETZCATL GO TO THE ALAMO"]

  At the last words the face of Tetzcatl lighted up, and he touched hismule with a spur. It was time to push forward if there was to be acock-fight at the fort, but he asked suspiciously how the young Lipanknew him. Had he ever seen him before?

  "Ugh! No!" said the boy. "Heard tell. No two Panther. Heap whitehead. No tribe. Ride alone. Bad medicine for Mexican. Stay inmountains. Heap kill."

  He had recognized, therefore, the original of some verbal picture inthe Lipan gallery of famous men.

  "Si!" exclaimed the Panther, looking more like one. "Tlascalan!People gone! Tetzcatl one left. Boy, Lipan, fight all Mexicans. Killall the Spaniards."

  From other remarks which followed, it appeared that the warriors of theplains could be expected to sympathize cordially with the remnants ofthe ancient clans of the south in the murderous feud which they hadnever remitted for a day since the landing of Cortez and his_conquistadores_.

  Moreover, no Indian of any tribe could fail to respect an old chieflike Tetzcatl, who had won renown as a fighter, even if he had taken noscalps to show for his victories.

  The mustang had moved when the mule did, with a momentary offer to bitehis long-eared companion, while the mule lashed out with his near hindhoof, narrowly missing the pony. Not either of the riders, however,was at all disturbed by any antics of his beast.

  Tetzcatl, as they rode on, appeared to be deeply interested in thereported gathering at the Alamo. He made many inquiries concerning themen who were supposed to be there, and about the cock-fight. The boy,on the other hand, asked no questions except with his eyes, and these,from time to time, confessed how deep an impression the oldSpaniard-hater had made upon him.

  "Mountain Panther kill a heap," he muttered to himself. "Cut uplancer. Cut off head. Eat heart. No take scalp."

  Beyond a doubt he had heard strange stories, and it was worth his whileto meet and study the principal actor in some of the worst of them.

  One of the old man's questions was almost too personal for Indianmanners.

  "Why go?" sharply responded the young Lipan. "Son of Castro. Greatchief. Go see warrior. See great rifle chief. See Big Knife! Fort.Big gun. Old Mountain Panther too much talk."

  That was an end of answers, and Tetzcatl failed to obtain any furtherinformation concerning an assembly which was evidently puzzling him.They were now nearing their destination, however. They could see thefort, and both pairs of their very black eyes were glittering withexpectation as they pushed forward more rapidly.

  The strongest military post in all Texas was an old, fortified mission,and it had been well planned by Spanish engineers to resist probableattacks from the fierce coast-tribes which had now disappeared. Anirregular quadrangle, one hundred and fifty-four yards long byfifty-four yards wide, was surrounded by walls eight feet high thatwere nowhere less than two and a half feet thick. On the southeasterlycorner, opening within and without, was a massive church, unfinished,roofless, but with walls of masonry twenty-two and a half feet high andfour feet thick. Along the south front of the main enclosure was astructure two stories high, intended for a convent, with a large walledenclosure attached. This was the citadel. Next to the church was astrong exterior stockade, with a massive gate. There were manyloop-holes and embrasures in the enclosing wall. No less than fourteencannon were actually in position, mostly four-pounders and six-pounders.

  It had been many a long year since a shot had been fired at any redenemy, for the remaining tribes, forced westward, were not fort-takers.Their incursions, rarely penetrating so deep into the nominally settledcountry, had reference to scalps, horses, cattle, and other plunder.

  As for other Texas Indians, the Creeks, Choctaws, Chickasaws, and other"United States redskins," about eight thousand of whom were estimatedto have crossed the northern border and taken up permanent abodes, noneof their war-parties ever came as far south as the Guadalupe River andthe Alamo.

  Of Comanches, Lipans, Apaches, and the like, the old Mexican State ofTexas had been estimated to contain about twenty thousand, withnumerous bands to hear from in the unknown regions of southern NewMexico, Chihuahua, Durango, Sonora, and Arizona. As yet, the strengthof these tribes had not been broken. They were independent nations,not recognizing Spain, Mexico, or any other power as entitled to governthem. Added to the continual perplexities of whatever authority mightat any time assume to control the lost empire of the Montezumas, weresundry remnants of the very fiercest of the old Mexicans clans.

  They were not understood to be numerous, but they held unpenetratedvalleys and mountain ranges and forests. The boldest priests hadfailed to establish missions among them. It was said that no white manventuring too far had ever returned, and there were wild legends of thewonders of those undiscovered fastnesses.

  During several years prior to this winter of 1835, there had been anincreasing immigration of Americans from the United States. Thesesettlers now numbered thirty thousand, or more than six times theSpanish-Mexican population, and they had brought with them fivethousand negro slaves. Almost as a matter of course, they had refusedto become Mexicans. They had set up for themselves, had declared theirindependence, and the new provisional republic of
Texas, with SamHouston for its leading spirit, was now at war with the not very oldrepublic of Mexico, under the autocratic military presidency of GeneralAntonio Lopez de Santa Anna.

  It was toward the middle of a warm and lazy day, more like a northernOctober than anything that should be called winter. The sun wasshining brightly upon the walls, the fort, the church, and upon thegray level of the enclosure. It was getting almost too warm for activeexercise, but there was nothing going on that called for hard work fromhuman beings.

  About twenty yards from the church a long oval had been staked out, anda rope had been stretched around upon the stakes. Outside of this ropea throng had gathered which was to the last degree motley. Itconsisted, first, of nearly all the garrison. There were a number ofother Americans, of all sorts, and half as many Mexicans, besides a fewSpanish-Mexicans of pure imported blood. Not less noticeable, however,than any of the others were more than a dozen Indian warriors, in theirbest array, who stalked proudly hither and thither, pausing to speakonly to white men of high degree. That is, they would condescend torecognize none but those whom they were willing to accept as their ownequals, for the red man is a born aristocrat. At the same time theyhad watched as closely as had any others the exciting combats going oninside the roped amphitheatre.

  These, indeed, were now completed, for their proper time had been thecool hours of the morning. It had been a grand cock-fight, almost thenational pastime of the Mexicans, and decidedly popular among their redand white neighbors. Partly, at least, it had been gotten up in honorof the Comanche and Lipan dignitaries who were present, but it haddrawn to the fortress the leading citizens of the nearest town, SanAntonio de Bexar.

  There were sentries at the open gate, of course, but there was no suchseverity of military discipline as would prevent any man from attendingsuch an affair as that.

  The utmost courtesy prevailed. In fact, the absolute good order wassomething remarkable. The lower classes might be supposed to be in aweof their superiors and of the military, but there was something morebelonging to the men and the time.

  Only the black men and some of the Mexican _peones_ seemed to bewithout arms. Almost every white man wore a belt to which was secureda knife and at least one pair of pistols. Half of them carried rifles,unless, for the moment, they had leaned the long barrels against ahandy wall. The bronzed and bearded faces expressed hospitality,civility, but every pair of eyes among them wore an expression ofhabitual watchfulness, for all these men were living in a state ofdaily, hourly readiness to stand for their lives. Their laws, theirrights, their liberties, and their very breath depended upon theirpersonal pluck and prowess, for here were the pioneers of theSouthwest, the heroes of the American border.

  Between the cockpit and the church stood a group toward which the restnow and then glanced with manifest respect. Central among them weretwo who were conversing, face to face.

  The taller of this pair was a dark, scarred, powerful-looking savage,close behind whom stood another red man, every whit as dangerouslooking but a head shorter.

  The other of the talkers was a white man nearly as tall as the darkchief. He was blue-eyed, auburn-haired, handsome, and he had an almostunpleasant appearance of laughing whenever he spoke. Even while helaughed, however, his sinewy hand was playing with the hilts of thepistols in his belt as if it loved them.

  "Travis," said the warrior, sternly, "Lipan fight Santa Anna,--now!What Texan do? How many rifle come?"

  "Why, Castro, my old friend," replied Colonel Travis, "he is cominghere. We needn't go to Mexico after him. We can clean him out ofTexas when he comes in, but we won't go with you across the Rio Grande."

  Castro turned and said a few words in Spanish to the shorter chiefbehind him, and most of the white men present understood the fiercereply that was made in the same tongue.

  "Great Bear speaks for all the Comanches!" he exclaimed. "Ugh! Wefight Santa Anna! Fight Travis! Fight Big Knife! No friend! Texansall cowards. Coyotes. Rabbits. They are afraid to ride intoChihuahua."

  Just then, at his left, there glided near him a new-comer to whom allthe rest turned, at once, as if his presence were a great surprise.

  "Tetzcatl speaks for the tribes of the mountains," he loudly declared,and his deep, guttural voice had in it a harsh and grating tone. "Wesend for the Comanches. We will be with them when they come. We wantthe Lipans to come. We ask the Texans to come. They will strike thelancers of Santa Anna and save Texas. The chiefs will take scalps,horses, cattle. Travis, Tetzcatl will show him gold. Plenty! Texanswant gold."

  "There isn't any gold to be found in Chihuahua," laughed Travis, "orthe Mexicans would ha' scooped it in long ago. I don't bite."

  "Colonel," broke in a bearded, powerful-looking man, stepping forward,"I know what he means, if you don't. He said something to me about it,once. The old tiger is full of that nonsense of the hidden treasure ofthe Montezumas. It's the old Cortez humbug."

  "Humbug? I guess it is!" laughed the colonel. "I can't be caught bysuch a bait as that. The Spaniards hunted for it, and the Mexicans,too. No, I won't go, Bowie. You won't, and Crockett won't. We shouldonly lose our scalps for nothing. We'll stay and fight the Greasers onour own ground."

  "Tell you what, colonel," responded his friend, "let's have him talk itout. You just hear what he's got to say."

  "Well, Bowie," he said, "I don't object to that, but we've all heardit, many a time. I don't believe Cortez and his men left anythingbehind them. If they found it, they just didn't report it to the king,that's all. That's about what men of their kind would ha' done.Nothing but pirates, anyhow. Talk with old Tetzcatl? Oh, yes. Noharm in that."

  "I'd kind o' like a ride into Mexico," remarked Bowie, thoughtfully,"if it was only to know the country. Somehow I feel half inclined totry it on, if we can take the right kind with us."

  A ringing, sarcastic laugh answered from behind him, and with it camethe derisive voice of another speaker.

  "Not for Davy Crockett," he said. "I'd ruther be in Congress any daythan south o' the Rio Grande. Why, colonel, that part o' Mexico isn'tours, and we don't keer to annex it. What we want to do is to stretchout west-'ard. But we're spread, now, like a hen a-settin' onto ahundred eggs, and some on 'em 'll spile."

  There was sharper derision in his face than in his words, aided greatlyby his somewhat peaked nose and a satirical flash in his blue-grayeyes. It was curious, indeed, that so much rough fun could find aplace in a countenance so deeply marked by lines of iron determination.

  Very different was the still, set look upon the face of Colonel JamesBowie. The celebrated hand-to-hand fighter seemed to be a man whocould not laugh, or even smile, very easily.

  Colonel Travis was in a position of official responsibility, and he wasaccustomed to dealing with the sensitive pride of Indians. He nowturned and held out a hand to the evidently angry Comanche.

  "Great Bear is a great chief," he said. "He is wise. He can countmen. Let him look around him and count. How many rifles can hisfriend take away to go with the Comanches into Mexico?"

  "Ugh!" said Great Bear. "Fort no good. Heap stone corral. Texan liearound. No fight. No hurt Mexican. Sit and look at big gun. Hidebehind wall. Rabbit in hole."

  He spoke scornfully enough, but the argument against him was a strongone.

  "Great Bear," said Crockett, "you're a good Indian. When you come formy skelp, I'll be thar. But you can't have any Texans, just now."

  The Comanche turned contemptuously away to speak to one of his ownbraves.

  "Castro," said Travis, "it's of no use to say any more now, but you andI have got to talk things over. All of us are ready to strike at SantaAnna, but we must choose our own way. When the time comes, we can wipehim out."

  "Wipe him out?" growled Bowie. "Of course we can. He and hisragamuffins 'll never get in as far as the Alamo."

  "Colonel," replied Travis, "take it easy. It's a good thing for us ifthe tribes are out as our allies."


  "Hitting us, too, every chance they git," remarked Crockett. "Allexcept, it may be, Castro. We can handle the Greasers ourselves."

  Other remarks were made by those around him, expressing liberalcontempt for the Mexican general and his army. They seemed to haveforgotten the old military maxim that the sure road to disaster is todespise your adversary.

  Tetzcatl had heard all, but he had said no more. His singular face hadall the while grown darker and more tigerish. The wild beast idea wasyet more strongly suggested when he walked away with Great Bear. Allhis movements were lithe, cat-like, very different from the dignifiedpacing of his companion and of other Comanche chiefs who followed them.

  In the outer edge of the group of notables there had been one listenerwho had hardly taken his eyes from the faces of the white leaders. Hehad glanced from one to another of them with manifestly strongadmiration. It was the Lipan boy who had ridden to the post withTetzcatl.

  At this moment, however, his face had put on an expression of thefiercest hatred. He was looking at a man who wore the gaudy uniform ofthe Mexican cavalry. He was evidently an officer of high rank, and hehad now strolled slowly away from the completed cock-fight, as if toexchange ceremonious greetings with Colonel Travis and his friends.They stepped forward to meet him with every appearance of formalcourtesy, and no introduction was needed.

  "Si, senor," he replied, to an inquiry from the fort commander. "Ihave seen Senor Houston. I return to Matamoras to-morrow. Our Mexicanbirds have won this match. We will bring more game-cocks to amuse youbefore long."

  His meaning was plain enough, however civilly it was spoken.

  "You might win another match," responded Travis, "if all the Mexicanbirds were as game as General Bravo."

  The Mexican bowed low and his face flushed with pride at receiving sucha compliment from the daring leader of the Texan rangers.

  "Thanks, senor," he said, as he raised his head. "I will show you someof them. I shall hope to meet you at the head of my own lancers."

  "I know what they are," laughed Travis, "and you can handle them. Butthey can't ride over those walls. Likely as not Great Bear's Comanches'll find you work enough at home. I'm afraid Santa Anna will have toconquer Texas without you."

  General Bravo uttered a half-angry exclamation, but he added,--

  "That's what I'm afraid of. They are our worst enemy. There is moredanger in them than in the Lipans. Among them all, though, you mustlook out for your own scalp. You might lose it."

  Travis laughed again in his not at all pleasant way, but he made nodirect reply. It was said of him that he always went into a fight withthat peculiar smile, and that it boded no good to the opposite party.

  There seemed to be old acquaintance, if not personal friendship,between him and General Bravo, and neither of them said anything thatwas positively disagreeable.

  Nevertheless, they talked on with a cool reserve of manner that wasnatural to men who expected to meet in combat shortly. The war for theindependence of Texas had already been marked by ruthlessblood-shedding. General Bravo, it appeared, was even now on his returnfrom bearing important despatches, final demands from the President ofMexico to the as yet unacknowledged commander-in-chief of therebellious province of Texas. He was therefore to be consideredpersonally safe, of course, until he could recross the border into hisown land.

  For all that, he might not have been sure of getting home if some ofthe men who were watching him could have had their own way, and when hemounted his horse a dozen Texan rangers, sent along by Houston himself,rode with him as an escort.

  "Bravo may come back," said Bowie, looking after him, "but all thelancers in Mexico can never take the Alamo."

  The iron-faced, iron-framed borderer turned away to take sudden note ofa pair of very keen, black eyes which were staring, not so much at himas at something in his belt.

  "You young red wolf!" he exclaimed. "What are you looking at?"

  "Ugh! Heap boy Red Wolf! Good!" loudly repeated the Lipan war-chiefCastro, standing a few paces behind his son.

  Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! followed in quick succession, for every Indian whoheard knew that the boy had then and there received from the greatpale-face warrior the name by which he was thenceforth to be known,according to established Indian custom.

  "Big Knife," said the boy himself, still staring at the belt, bututtering the words by which the white hero was designated by the redmen of many tribes, north and south. "Red Wolf look at heap knife."

  "Oh," said the colonel. "You want to see Bowie's old toothpick? Well,I guess all sorts of redskins have made me pull it out."

  "Heap medicine knife," remarked Castro. "Kill a heap. Boy see."

  Bowie's own eyes wore a peculiar expression as he drew out the long,glittering blade and handed it to his young admirer.

  It was a terrible weapon, even to look at, and more so for its history.Originally, its metal had been only a large, broad, horse-shoer's file,sharpened at the point and on one edge. After its owner had won renownwith it, a skilful smith had taken it and had refinished it with aslight curve, putting on, also, a strong buck-horn haft. It was now along, keen-edged, brightly polished piece of steel-work, superior inall respects to the knives which had heretofore been common on theAmerican frontier.

  "Ugh!" said Red Wolf again, handling it respectfully. "Heap knife."

  He passed it to his father, and it went from hand to hand among thewarriors, treated by each in turn as if it were a special privilege tobecome acquainted with it, or as if it were a kind of enchanted weapon,capable of doing its own killing.

  "Bowie, knife!" said Castro, when he at last returned it to its owner,unintentionally using the very term that was thenceforward to be givento all blades of that pattern.

  "All right," said the colonel, but he turned to call out to his twofriends,--

  "Travis? Crockett? Come along. I want a full talk with Tetzcatl.There's more than you think in a scout across the Rio Grande. Let's goon into the fort."

  "I'm willing," said Travis; and on they went toward the Alamo convent,the citadel, and they were followed by Castro and the white-headedTlascalan.

  Red Wolf was not expected to join a council of great chiefs, but helooked after them earnestly, saying to himself,--

  "Ugh! Heap war-path! Red Wolf go!"