CHAPTER II
THE MARCH OF THE TRAIN
The train made an imposing appearance with its sixty wagons and itshorsemen, numerous and well armed. It was commanded by a middle-agedtrader of experience, Thomas Woodfall, who had already made severaltrips to Santa Fe, and the hopes of all were high. They carried, amongother things, goods that the senoras and senoritas of Santa Fe would beeager to buy, and much gain might be obtained. But every one of thefour who rode so closely together thought most in his heart of that forwhich he sought, and in no instance was the object of search the same.
But they were cheerful. Whatever were past griefs or whatever might bethose to come, the present was propitious and fair. The Southern springwas not yet advanced far enough to drive the cool tang out of the air bydaylight, while at night fires were needed. It rained but little, andthey marched steadily on through crisp sunshine.
"I trust that the good Sir Roland is pleased," said Bill Breakstone toPhil. "Fresh air in the lungs of youth 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 an ill wind that blows nobody good, andI say that it's a good wind that blows nobody ill. The rain will rain,the snow will snow, the wind will blow, and what will poor rabbit dothen?"
"Get into his little nest, cover himself up warm and dry, and wait untilit passes," replied Phil.
"Right, Master Philip. Go up to the head of the class," said BillBreakstone in his usual joyous tones--Phil always thought that Bill hadthe cheeriest voice in the world--"I'm glad to see you taking thoughtfor the future. Now our good friend Hans, here, would not have madesuch 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 the Hohenstauffens, theHohenzollerns, and the Katzenellenbogens," chanted Bill Breakstone.
"Ah, Herr Breakstone, it iss that you are one happy man," said Arenberg."I wonder that you go to find something, when you have the joy of livinganywhere."
"But I do go to find something," said Breakstone, suddenly becominggrave. Phil noticed that he puckered up his eyes and gazed far into theWest, as if he would see already that for which he sought.
They traveled for several days among plantations in a low damp country,and then they passed suddenly beyond the line of cultivation into adrier region of low hills and small prairies. Phil was pleased with thechange. If they were going into the wilderness, he was anxious to reachit as soon as possible, and this, beyond a doubt, was the edge of theunknown. The first night that he heard the scream of a panther in thewoods he felt that they were leaving all civilization behind, and that,save for the train, the world of men was blotted out.
Yet it was very pleasant as long as the weather remained dry, and theearly spring was certainly doing its best. It was a succession of crispdays and cool nights, and Phil liked the steady advance by day throughnew lands, and the rest in the evening, when they built fires for thecooking and to fend off the chill. They usually drew the wagons up in acircle in one of the little prairies, and then went to the forest nearby for wood that 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 youto know, Sir Philip of the Forest, that sitting long hours on a horsewhich carries me luxuriously along, the horse doing all the work and Idoing none, tends to laziness and fat. I need this exercise to put mein proper trim for the luscious repast that awaits us."
"I don't need anything to whet my appetite," replied Phil, as helaughed. "To tell you the truth, Bill, I'm always hungry."
"Do not grieve or have fears for the larder, Sir Philip of the HungryCountenance. There is an abundance of food in the wagons, and we alsoshall soon be in a good game country. Unless my eye and hand have losttheir cunning, a fat deer shall speedily be roasting over the coals."
The four kept close together, and they usually gathered around the fireat which Thomas Woodfall, the leader, sat. Woodfall had shown a decidedrespect and liking for Middleton, and, following the custom whichBreakstone had established, always addressed him as Cap, short forCaptain. Phil and Breakstone had been particularly active gatheringwood that evening, and it had been Phil's task and pleasure, when it wasall put in a heap, to light it. Now he was watching the little flamesgrow into big ones, and the yellow light turn to blazing red. Helistened, also, as the flames hissed a little before the wind, and thedry boughs snapped and crackled under the fiery torch. Middletonregarded him with kindly approval.
"A good boy," he said to Woodfall. "A lad with fine instincts and abrave spirit."
"And a mighty handy one, too," said Woodfall. "I've noticed how heworks. He's as big and strong as a man, and I never saw anybody elsewho was just prized down like a hogshead of tobacco, crowded full ofzeal."
"I think it likely he will need it all before our journey is over," saidMiddleton.
"It's probable," repeated Woodfall, "but I'll ask you, Cap, not to speakit. It may be that this expedition was begun at the wrong time. I hadheard, and the owners had heard, that the troubles with Mexico werequieting down, but it seems that, instead of doing so, they are gettinglivelier."
"I shall certainly say nothing about it to our people here," repliedMiddleton. "Cheerful hearts are the best, and we may have trouble withneither Mexicans nor Indians."
Phil himself was not thinking at that moment of either yellow or redfoes. His fire had grown into a mighty pyramid, and, as the dead woodburned fast, it soon sank down into a great mass of glowing coals. Thenhe, Breakstone, and Arenberg boiled coffee in big iron pots, and cookedbread and many slices of bacon. The night was cool and nipping, but thecoals threw out an abundance of heat. A delicious aroma arose andspread far. Everybody came forward with tin cup and tin plate, andhelped himself. Phil took his filled plate in one hand, his filled cupin the other, and sat down on a fallen log with Breakstone and Arenberg.
"In my time, and as an ornament to the stage," said Bill Breakstone, "Ihave eaten some bountiful repasts. I have feasted as a prince, a duke,or some other lordling. I have been the wrestler in the Forest of Ardenwith _Rosalind_ and _Celia_. I have had my head deep in the mug ofsack, as _Sir John Falstaff_, but most of those magnificent repastsdepended largely upon the imagination. Here I am neither prince norduke, but the food is real, and the air is so good that one might evenbite a chip with a certain pleasure. Excuse me, Sir Philip of theForest, while I even drain the coffee-cup."
He took it all down at one draught, and a beatific glow overspread hisface. Arenberg regarded him with admiration.
"Ach, Mein Herr Breakstone, but you are one cheerful man!" he said."You never do any harm, because none iss meant. When you drink thecoffee you make me 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 notof the ills of the morrow," replied Breakstone. "Somebody somewheresaid 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 to shoot adeer."
"I hope so," said Phil eagerly. He, too, was luxuriating, and he wasfully as cheerful as Bill Breakstone. The great beds of coal threw awarm, luminous glow over all the circle enveloped by the wagons.Everybody ate and felt good. The pleasant hum of pleasant talk arose.Outside the wagons the tethered horses cropped the short young grass,and they, too, were content. Not far away the forest of magnolia,poplar, and many kinds of oak rustled before the slight wind, and thenote that came from 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 against the log and listened to thetalk. He heard wonderful tales of adventure in the West Indies
and onthe South American coast, of fights in Mexico and Texas, when the littlebands of Texans won their independence, of encounters with raidingComanches, and of strange stone ruins left by vanished races in thedeserts of the Far West. He was fascinated as he listened. The spiritof romance was developed strongly within him. It was, indeed, a mostadventurous search upon which he was embarked, and this spirit, strong,enduring, hardened to meet all things, was what he needed most.
As the fires died down, and the warmth decreased, he wrapped his blanketaround himself, and now and then dozed a little. But he still felt verycontent. It seemed to him that it was uncommon fortune to have joinedsuch an expedition, and it was a good omen. He must succeed in hisgreat search.
"Well, Sir Roland, what is it?" said Bill Breakstone at last. "Do youwant to sleep in the wagon or on the ground here? The good KnightOrlando, who for the present is myself, means to choose the ground."
"No stuffy wagon for me on a night like this," rejoined Phil sleepily."I am going to sleep just where I lie."
He settled back more comfortably, put his arm under his head, and in afew moments was in the deep, dreamless sleep of youth and health. BillBreakstone quickly followed him to that pleasant land of Nowhere. ThenArenberg and the Captain were soon entering the same region. The firessank lower and lower, the sound of breathing from many men arose, thehorses outside became quiet, and peace settled over the wilderness camp.
Phil slept far into the night, he never knew how far, but he believed itwas about half way between midnight and morning. When he awoke it wasvery dark, and there was no noise but that of the breathing men and therustling wind. Just why he, a sound sleeper, had awakened at that timehe could not say. But he had eaten largely, and he was conscious ofthirst, a thirst that could be quenched easily at a little spring in thewood.
The boy rose, letting his blanket drop to the ground, and glanced overthe sleeping camp. Despite the darkness, he saw the forms of recumbentmen, and some coals that yet glimmered faintly. Around them was thedark circling line of the wagons. No regular watch was kept as theywere yet far from dangerous country, and, passing between two of thewagons, Phil went toward the spring, which was about three hundred yardsaway.
It was a nice cold spring, rising at the base of a rock, and runningaway in a tiny stream among the poplars. Phil knelt and drank, and thensat upon an upthrust root. The desire for sleep had left him, and hismind turned upon his great search. He took the paper from the insidepocket of his coat, unfolded it, and smoothed it out with his fingers.It was too dark for him to read it, but he held it there a little while,then folded it up again, and returned it to its resting place. He wasabout to rise again and return to the camp, but something moved in thethicket. It might have been a lizard, or it might have been the wind,but he was sure it was neither. The sound was wholly out of harmonywith the note of the night.
Phil remained sitting on the upthrust root, but leaned against the trunkto which the root belonged. His figure blended darkly against the bark.Only an eye of uncommon acuteness would note him. The slight stirring,so much out of tune with all the wilderness noises, came again, and,despite his strength and will, both of which were great, Phil felt icepass along his spine, and his hair rose slightly. That uncanny hour atwhich evil deeds happen held him in its spell. But he did not move,except for the slipping of his hand to the pistol in his belt, and hewaited.
Slowly a dark face formed itself in the bushes, and beneath it was thefaint outline of a human figure. The face was malignant and cruel, areddish copper in color, with a sharp, strong chin, high cheek-bones,and black glowing eyes. These eyes were bent in a fierce gaze upon thecircle of wagons. They did not turn in Phil's direction at all, but theface held him fascinated.
It seemed to Phil that he had seen that countenance before, and as hegazed he remembered. It was surely that of Black Panther, the Comanche,but what a startling change. The crouching, fuddled lump of a man intattered clothes, whom he had seen in New Orleans, had been transformedwhen the breath of the wilderness poured into his lungs. He fittedthoroughly into this dark and weird scene, and the hair on Phil's headrose a little more. Then the head, and the figure with it, suddenlymelted away and were gone. There was no strange stirring in thethicket, nothing that was not in accord with the night.
The ice left Phil's spine, the hair lay down peacefully once more on hishead, and his hand moved away from the pistol at his belt. It was likea dream in the dark, the sudden appearance of that Medusa head in thebushes, and he was impressed with all the weight of conviction that itwas an omen of bad days to come. The wind whispered it, and the quiverin his blood answered. But the men in the train might laugh at him ifhe told that he had merely seen an Indian's face in the bushes. Thething itself would be slight enough in the telling, and he did not wishto be ridiculed as a boy whose fears had painted a picture of that whichwas not. But he walked warily back, and he was glad enough when herepassed between two of the wagons, and resumed his old place.Middleton, Arenberg, and Bill Breakstone all slept soundly, and Phil,wrapped in his blanket, sought to imitate them. But he could not. Helay there thinking until the low band of scarlet in the eastforeshadowed the day. He rose and looked once more over the camp. Thelast coal had died, and the dark forms, wrapped in their blankets,looked chill and cold. But the red dawn was advancing, and warmth camewith it. One by one the men awoke. The horses stirred. Phil stood upand stretched his arms. Middleton, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg awoke.They had slept soundly and pleasantly all through the night.
"'Tis a fine couch, this Mother Earth," said Bill Breakstone, "finerthan cloth of gold, if it be not raining or snowing, or the winds be notnipping. Then, in such event, I should take the cloth of gold, with asnug tent over it."
"I have slept well, and I awake strong and refreshed," said Arenbergsimply. "It iss all I ask of a night."
"I have not slept well," said Phil, "at least I did not during thelatter part of the night."
There was a certain significance in his tone, and the others looked athim. Only they were near, and Phil said in a low tone:
"I awoke in the night, and I was restless. I walked down to the springfor a drink, and I saw a face in the bushes, the face of a man who waswatching us."
"Ah!" said Middleton, a single monosyllable, long drawn. But his toneexpressed interest, not surprise. He looked at the boy as if he expectedto hear more.
"I saw the face clearly," continued Phil. "It was changed, wonderfullychanged in expression, but I knew it. I could not be mistaken. It wasthat Comanche, called Black Panther, whom we saw in New Orleans. He wasdirty and degraded there, but he did not seem so last night."
"I am glad that you told this, Phil," said Middleton. "It was a luckychance that awakened you and sent you to the spring."
"Once I thought I would not speak of it at all," said the boy. "I wasafraid they would say it was only a dream or a creation of my fancy."
"I'm sure that you really saw it," said Middleton, "and I will speakwith Mr. Woodfall. The time has come when we must be cautious."
The camp was now wholly awake, and the men began to light the firesanew, and take their breakfasts. Middleton talked with Mr. Woodfall,and, as the latter kept it no secret, the news soon spread throughoutthe train. Philip Bedford, prowling about in the dark, had seen anIndian in the woods near by, an Indian who seemed to be watching them.
The news was variously received, because there were many kinds of men inthis train. Some took it seriously; others were disposed to laugh, andto hint, as Phil had feared, that it was fancy or a dream; and otherscared nothing about it. What was a single wandering warrior to them?But the leader compelled a more careful advance. Scouts were sentahead, and others rode on the flanks. Phil and his comrades shared inthis duty, and that very day he and Bill Breakstone and Arenberg wereamong those who rode ahead.
It was not an easy duty, because they were now in thick forest, withmuch swampy ground about. Dark funereal cypresses aboun
ded in themarshy soil, and gloomy moss hung from the live oaks. A deer sprang up,and Phil pulled down his rifle, but Breakstone would not let him shoot.
"Not now, Phil," he said. "We must not shoot at chance game when we arescouting. My talk may not sound like it, but I know something ofwilderness 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 is worth a world without a name.'"
"Say that again," said Arenberg.
"One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a world without 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 thatPhil had seen in the bushes was forgotten or ignored. It was alight-hearted crowd, used to wild life and adventure, and these men,drawn from different parts of the globe, occupied with to-day, tooklittle thought of to-morrow's dangers. The weather remained beautiful.Days and nights were dry, and they were again on good firm earth, whichmade the way of the wagons easy. Phil, instructed by Bill Breakstone,stalked and shot a deer, a fine, fat buck, which gave a slice foreverybody in the train, and which brought him compliments. In fact, hewas already a general favorite, and he did not mind when they jested nowand then about the face in the bushes, and told him that he was a seerof visions. He was rapidly becoming an adept in the forest life, towhich he took naturally, and in Bill Breakstone he had no mean tutor.Breakstone soon showed that he was a scout and trailer of the firstquality, although he did not explain why he had spent so many years inthe wilds.
"It's partly gift, and partly training, Sir Philip of the YouthfulCountenance and of the Good Blue Eye," he said. "If you just teachyourself to see everything and to hear everything about you, and neverforget 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 fasttoward the head of the class."
Phil flushed with pleasure. In the task that he had set for himself hegreatly needed forest lore, and it was a keen satisfaction to know thathe was acquiring it. He redoubled his efforts. He always notedcarefully the country through which they passed, the configuration ofthe earth, and the various kinds of trees and bushes. At night he wouldoften ask Bill Breakstone to question him, and from his superiorknowledge and longer training to point out a mistake whenever he mightmake it. Bill was a severe teacher, and he criticised freely wheneverPhil was wrong. But he admitted that his pupil was making progress.Arenberg was smoking his pipe at one of their sittings, and, taking itout of his mouth, he remarked:
"No harm iss done where none iss meant. Now what I wish to ask you,Herr Breakstone, and you, young Herr Philip, would you remember all yourlessons if you were on foot on the prairie, unarmed, and a wild Comanchewarrior were riding at you, ready to run his lance through you?"
"I don't know," replied Phil frankly, "but I hope such a time will nevercome."
"That's the rub," said Arenberg meditatively. "It iss good to know allthe rules, to do all you can before, but it iss better to think fast,and act right when the great emergency comes. It iss only then that youare of the first class. I say so, and I say so because I know."
Only Phil noticed the faint tone of sadness with which his words ended,and he glanced quickly at the German. But Arenberg's face expressednothing. Once more he was pulling calmly at his pipe. Bill Breakstonegave his words hearty indorsement.
"You're right," he said. "The Grand Duke of Germany speaks the truth.I've embodied that piece of wisdom in a little poem, which I will quoteto 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, combiningthe two parts, I think it is a little masterpiece."
Arenberg took out his pipe again, and regarded Bill Breakstone withadmiration.
"It iss one great man, this Herr Bill Breakstone," he said. "He makespoetry and tells the truth at the same time."
"Thanks, most puissant lord," said Breakstone, "and now, the lessonbeing over, Phil, I think we might all of us go to sleep and knit up afew raveled sleeves of care."
"We might take to the wagon," said Middleton. "If I'm any judge ofweather, Phil, the beautiful spell that we've had is coming to an end."
"You're right, Cap," said Breakstone. "I noticed that when the sun setto-day it looked redder than usual through a cloud of mist, and thatmeans 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 four found places in thelarge wagon among their goods, where they had the shelter of the canvasroof, although the cover was open at either end to allow the clean sweepof the air. Phil, as usual, slept well. Five minutes was about all heneeded for the preparatory stage, and to-night was no exception. But heawoke again in the middle of the night. Now he knew full well thecause. Low thunder was rumbling far off at the edge of the earth, and astroke of lightning made him wink his sleepy eyes. Then came a rush ofcold air, and after it the rain. The big drops rattled on the curvingcanvas roof, but they could not penetrate the thick cloth. Phil raisedhimself a little, and looked out at the open ends, but he saw onlydarkness.
Meanwhile the rain increased and beat harder upon the roof, which shedit like shingles. Phil drew his blanket up to his chin, rested his headand shoulders a little more easily against a bag of meal, and never hada greater sense of luxury in his life. The beat of the rain on thecanvas was like the patter of the rain on the roof of the old home, whenhe was a little boy and lay snug under the eaves. He had the samepleasant sense of warmth and shelter now. The storm might beat abouthim, but it could not touch him. He heard the even breathing of hiscomrades, who had not awakened. He heard the low thunder stillgrumbling far off in the south-west, and the lightning came again atintervals, but he sank gently back to slumber.
When he awoke the next morning the rain was still falling, and the wholeworld was a sodden gray. The air, too, was full of raw chill, despitethe southern latitude, and Phil shivered. It was his first impulse todraw the blanket more tightly, but he resolutely put the impulse down.He threw the blanket aside, slipped on his coat and boots, the onlyapparel that he had removed for the night's rest, and sprang out intothe rain, leaving his comrade still asleep.
Not many of the men were yet up, and Phil went at once into the forestin search of fallen wood, which was always abundant. It was not apleasant task. For the first time he felt the work hard anddisagreeable. Mists and vapors were rising from the wet earth, and thesun did not show. The rain came down steadily, and it was cold to thetouch. It soaked through the boy's clothing, but he stuck to his task,and brought in the dead wood by the armful. At the third load he metBill Breakstone, who hailed him cheerily.
"Well, you do make me ashamed of myself, Sir Knight of the DrippingForest," he said. "When we awoke and found you already up and at work,we concluded that it was time for us to imitate so good an example.Ugh, how cold this rain is, and we five hundred miles from an umbrella!"
Phil was compelled to laugh, and then the laugh made him feel better.But it was a morning that might well oppress the bravest. The wet woodwas lighted with extreme difficulty, and then it smoked greatly underthe rain. It was hard to do the cooking, and breakfast was notsatisfying. But Phil refused to make any complaint. With the rain inhis face, he spoke cheerfully of sunshine and warm dry plains.
"We ought to strike the plains of Texas to-morrow or the next day," saidBill Breakstone. "I've been through this region before, and I don'tthink I'm mistaken. Then we'll get out of this. If it's a long lanethat has no turning, it's one just as long that has no end."
They started late, and deep depression hung over the train. The men nolonger sang or made jokes at the expense of one another, but crouchedupon their horses or the wagon seats
, and maintained a sullen silence.Phil was on horseback, but he dried himself at one of the fires, andwith the blanket wrapped around his body he was now fairly wellprotected. It was hard to maintain a pleasant face, but he did it, andMiddleton, whom all now usually called Cap, looked his approval.
They advanced very slowly through thickets and across email streams,with mists and vapors so dense that they could see but little ahead.They did not make more than seven or eight miles that day, and, wet andmiserable, they camped for the night. The guard was still maintained,and Phil was on duty that night until twelve. When midnight came hecrawled into the wagon, depressed and thoroughly exhausted. But heslept well, and the next morning the rain was over. The mists andvapors were gone, and a beautiful sun was shining. All of Phil's goodspirits came back as he sprang out of the wagon and looked at the dryingearth.
The whole camp was transformed. The cooking fires burned ruddily andwith a merry crackle. The men sang their little songs and made theirlittle jokes. They told one another joyously that they would be out ofthe forest soon and upon the open prairies. They would be inTexas--Texas, that wonderful land of mystery and charm; Texas, alreadyfamous for the Alamo and San Jacinto. The fact that this Texas wasfilled with dangers took nothing from the glow at their hearts. Philshared in the general enthusiasm, and cried with the others, "Ho forTexas!"
Arenberg's face became very grave.
"Do not be carried away with the high feelings that run to the head," hesaid. "No harm iss done where none iss meant, but it iss a long roadacross Texas, and there iss no mile of it which does not have itsdangers. Who should know better than I?"
"You speak the truth," said Middleton. "I often think of that Comanche,Black Panther, whose face Phil saw in the thicket."
"You are right to speak of it," said Bill Breakstone. "I have been inthe West. I have spent years there. I have been in places that noother white man has ever seen, and just when you think this West, beyondthe white man's frontier, is most peaceful, then it is most dangerous._Hamlet_, Prince of Denmark, was a dreamy kind of fellow, but when thetime came he was a holy terror."
Phil was impressed, but in a little while it seemed to him that it couldscarcely be so. The threat contained in Black Panther's face was fadingfast from his mind, and danger seemed to him very far. His exuberanceof spirit was heightened by the easy journey that they now had through aforest without any undergrowth. The wagons rolled easily over short,young grass, and the thick boughs of the trees overhead protected themfrom the sun.
"Do you know the country, Bill?" asked Middleton.
"I think so," replied Breakstone. "Unless I'm mightily mistaken, and Idon't think I am, this forest ends in four or five miles. Then we comeright out on the genuine Texas plain, rolling straight; away forhundreds of miles. I think I'll take Phil here and ride forward and seeif I'm not right. Come, Phil!"
The two galloped away straight toward the West, and, as the forestoffered no difficulties, they were not compelled to check their speed.But in less than an hour Breakstone, who was in advance, pulled hishorse back sharply, and Phil did the same.
"Look, Phil!" exclaimed Breakstone, making a wide sweep with his hands,while face and eyes were glowing, "See, it is Texas!"
Phil looked. None could have been more eager than he was. The hillseemed to drop down before them sheer, like a cliff, but beyond lay agreat gray-green waving sea, an expanse of earth that passed under thehorizon, and that seemed to have no limit. It was treeless, and theyoung grass had touched the gray of winter with fresh green.
"The great plains!" exclaimed Phil. He felt an intense thrill. He hadat last reached the edge of this vast region of mystery, and to-morrowthey would enter it.
"Yes, the great plains," said Bill Breakstone. "And down here, I think,is where our wagons will have to pass." He turned to the left andfollowed a gentle slope that led to the edge of the plains. Thus, by aneasy descent, they left the forest, but when they turned back Phil's eyewas caught by a glittering object:
"Look, Bill!" he exclaimed. "See the arrow! What does it mean?"
An arrow with a deeply feathered shaft had been planted deep in an oaktree. Evidently it had been fired from a bow by some one standing onthe plain, and it was equally evident that a powerful hand had drawn thestring. It stood out straight and stark as if it would stay thereforever. Bill Breakstone rode up to it and examined it critically.
"It's a Comanche arrow, Phil," he said, "and, between you and me, Ithink 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 you saw Black Panther'sface in the thicket. I may have an imaginative mind, Sir Philip of theForest, soon to be Sir Philip of the Plain, but this arrow I take to beour first warning. It tells us to turn back, and it may have been firedby Black Panther himself, late Knight of the Levee 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 for a sign?" he asked."Why, Phil, that arrow, if it is meant as a threat, is the very thing todraw them on. It would make them anxious to go ahead and meet those whosay they must stop. If they were not that kind of men, they wouldn't behere."
"I suppose so," said Phil. "I, for one, would not want to turn back."
He rode up to the tree, took the arrow by the shaft, and pulled with allhis might. He was a strong youth, but he could not loosen it. Unlessbroken off, it was to stay there, a sign that a Comanche warning hadbeen given.
"I knew you couldn't move it," said Bill Breakstone. "The Indians haveshort bows, and you wouldn't think they could get so much power withthem, but they do. It's no uncommon thing for a buck at close range tosend an arrow clear through a big bull buffalo, and it takes powerfulspeed to do that."
They rode back, met the advancing line of wagons, and told what they hadseen, to which the men themselves, as they came to the edge of theprairie, were able to bear witness. Yet they were not greatlyimpressed. Those who believed that it meant a challenge gayly acceptedit as Breakstone had predicted.
"Let the Comanches attack, if they will," they said, shaking theirrifles. Even the face of the quiet Middleton kindled.
"It's a good spirit our men show," he said to the three who were hischosen comrades, "but I knew that they would never turn back because ofan Indian threat."
The train advanced slowly down into the plain, and then began its marchacross the vast, grayish-green expanse. The traveling was very easyhere, and they made seven or eight miles over the rolling earth beforethey stopped at sunset. Phil, looking back, could still see the darkline of the hilly country and the forest, but before him the prairierolled away, more than ever, as the twilight came, like an unknown sea.
The camp was beside a shallow stream running between low banks. Theybuilt their fires of cottonwood and stunted oaks that grew on eitherside, and then Phil saw the darkness suddenly fall like the fall of agreat blanket over the plains. With the night came a low, moaning soundwhich Bill Breakstone told him was merely the wind blowing a thousandmiles without a break.
Phil took his turn at guard duty the latter half of that night, walkingabout at some distance from the camp, now and then meeting his comradeson 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 waslittle need for such a watch, and Phil by and by confined himselfstrictly to his own territory.
Although his eyes grew used to the darkness, it was so heavy that theycould not penetrate it far, and he extended his beat a little fartherfrom the camp. He thought once that he heard a light sound, as offootsteps, perhaps those of a horse, and in order to be certain,remembering an old method, he lay down and put his ear to the ground.Then he was quite sure that he heard a sound very much like the tread ofhoofs, but in a moment or two it ceased. He rose, shaking h
is headdoubtfully, and advanced a little farther. He neither saw nor heardanything more, and he became convinced that the footsteps had been thoseof some wild animal. Perhaps a lone buffalo, an outlaw from the herd,had been wandering about, and had turned away when the human odor methis nostrils.
He returned toward the camp, and something cold passed his face. Therewas a slight whistling sound directly in his ear, and he sprang to oneside, as if he had narrowly missed the fangs of a rattlesnake. He heardalmost in the same instant a slight, thudding sound directly in front ofhim, and he knew instinctively what had made it. He ran forward, andthere was an arrow sticking half its length in the ground. The impulseof caution succeeded that of curiosity. Remembering Bill Breakstone'steachings, he threw himself flat upon the ground, letting his figureblend with the darkness, and lay there, perfectly still. But no otherarrow came. Nothing stirred. He could not make out among the shadowsanything that resembled a human figure, although his eyes were good andwere now trained to the work of a sentinel. Once when he put his ear tothe earth he thought he heard the faint beat of retreating hoofs, butthe sound was so brief and so far away that he was not sure.
Phil felt shivers, more after he lay down than when the arrow passed hischeek. It was the first time that a deadly weapon or missile had passedso close to him, fired perhaps with the intent of slaying him, and noboy could pass through such an experience without quivers and an icyfeeling along the spine.
But when he lay still awhile and could not detect the presence of anyenemy, he rose and examined the arrow again. There was enough light forhim to see that the feathered shaft was exactly like that of the arrowthey had found in the tree.
He pulled the weapon out of the ground and examined it with care. Ithad a triangular head of iron, with extremely sharp edges, and heshuddered again. If it had struck him, it would have gone through himas Bill Breakstone said the Comanche arrows sometimes went entirelythrough the body of a buffalo.
He took the arrow at once to the camp, and showed it to the men who wereon guard there, telling how this feathered messenger--and he could notdoubt that it was a messenger--had come. Woodfall and Middleton wereawakened, and both looked serious. It could not be any play of fancy onthe part of an imaginative boy. Here was the arrow to speak for itself.
"It must have been the deed of a daring Comanche," said Middleton withconviction. "Perhaps he did not intend to kill Phil, and I am sure thatthis arrow, like the first, was intended as a threat."
"Then it's wasted, just as others will be," said Woodfall. "My men donot fear Comanches."
"I know that," said Middleton. "It is a strong train, but we mustrealize, Mr. Woodfall, that the Comanches are numerous and powerful. Wemust make every preparation, all must stay close by the train, and theremust be a strict night watch."
He spoke in a tone of authority, but it fitted so well upon him, andseemed so natural that Woodfall did not resent it. On the contrary, henodded, and then added his emphatic acquiescence in words.
"You are surely right," he said. "We must tighten up everything."
This little conference was held beside some coals of a cooking fire thathad not yet died, and Phil was permitted to stand by and listen, as itwas he who had brought in the significant arrow. The coals did not givemuch light, and the men were half in shadow, but the boy was impressedanew by the decision and firmness shown by Middleton. He seemed to havean absolutely clear mind, and to know exactly what he wanted. Philwondered once more what a man of that type might be seeking in the vastand vague West.
"I'll double the guard," said Woodfall, "and no man shall go out ofsight of the train. Now, Bedford, my boy, you might go to sleep, as youhave done your part of a night's work."
Phil lay down, and, despite the arrow so vivid in memory, he slept untilday.
The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista Page 2