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

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE NOTE OF A MELODY

  Phil and Arenberg were undertaking this journey because they wished tomake one of their usual thorough scouts. It merely happened to be theirday, as John and Breakstone had gone on the day preceding. They werewell wrapped up, with their ear-muffs on and with big moccasins thatthey had made to go over their shoes. The snow was very light and dry,and offered little obstacle to the horses, which were fat and strongwith good feeding.

  "We certainly leave a fine trail, Hans," said Phil, looking back at theimpressions made by their horse's hoofs.

  "It iss so," said Arenberg, "but since we hunt people it iss not ourobject to hide ourselves. Do you notice how beautiful iss the forest,Herr Philip? All the trees are white with the snow. It iss a greattracery, silver sometimes and gold sometimes as the sun falls, and itextends farther than we can see. It must often have been such as thisin the great Teutonic forest where my ancestors dwelled thousands ofyears ago. Here in these woods I have this feeling at times, as if thecenturies were rolled back, and last night I dreamed a strange dream."

  "What was the dream?"

  "I don't know. That was the strange part of it. I awoke and I knewthat I had dreamed a strange dream which was not unpleasant, but, try ashard as I would, I could not remember anything about it. What do youthink that portends, Herr Philip?"

  "I do not know. Perhaps when we want a thing so much and think about itso much the imagination, while we are asleep and the will is dead, formsa picture of it that remains in our possession when we awake. But it'sjust surmise. I don't know anything about it."

  "Nor do I," said Arenberg, "but sometimes I believe. Now I suggest thatwe ride toward the northwest. I believe that good hunting grounds arein that direction beyond this forest, and perhaps the Comanches may havebeen on the plain there, and may now be seeking shelter in thiswilderness."

  "It's as good a theory as any," said Phil, "and we'll try it."

  They rode for several hours toward the northwest, passing from theregion of heavy forest into that of the scrub timber, and again intoheavy forest as they approached the slopes of the higher mountains.They were now at least twenty miles from The Silver Cup, and it was pastmidday. They had brought jerked venison with them, and they ate theirnoon meal on horseback. But Phil wanted water, and he saw a clear whiteline leading among the trees, which he thought might indicate a brookflowing under the ice and snow. He dismounted, scraped away the snowand found that he was right. He broke the ice, took a good drink, andthen noticed a trail on the far side of the brook. It was unmistakablythat of a single horse, and he called excitedly to Arenberg.

  "Look, Hans," he said. "Doesn't this show that an Indian pony haspassed here?"

  Arenberg came at once, and when he looked down at the trail his eyessparkled with a kind of exultant joy. But he showed no excitementotherwise.

  "It iss the trail of a single Indian pony," he said. "We will follow it.It iss not likely that a lone warrior rides in this region. He goes tojoin others."

  Phil looked closely at Arenberg. He was quite sure that his comradeconsidered this a sign, the first sign that had come in the long, longsearch. He knew how the stout heart must be throbbing within theGerman's powerful chest.

  "Lead on, Hans," he said. "I think you're right."

  The two followed the trail at a good walk. It lay before them in thesnow as plain as a railroad track. There was but little undergrowthhere, and they saw far among the stems of the trees. They were quitesure that danger lay before them, since they might ride at any momentinto an ambush, but they kept on without hesitation, although theywatched well with two pairs of unusually keen eyes. In this manner theyrode about five miles, and then Arenberg's eyes began to scintillateagain. The pony's trail was merged into that of three or four morecoming from the north.

  "It iss so! It iss so!" he said softly, although excitement now showedin his tone. "The Comanches have come! Presently more riders willenter the trail, and beyond will lie their camp. Now, young HerrPhilip, it iss for us to go with great care."

  A mile farther the trail was merged with that of at least twentyhorsemen. Phil himself did not doubt that the new Indian camp laybefore them. The forest was now heavy with undergrowth here and there,for which he was thankful, since it afforded hiding for Arenberg andhimself, while the trail was so broad that they could not possibly missit. There was another fortunate circumstance. They had been longer onthe trail than they had realized, and the twilight was now coming fast.It already lay in deep shadows over the vast, lonely wilderness.Although he was very near, Phil saw Arenberg's figure enveloped in asort of black mist, and the horse's feet made but little sound on thesoft snow. At intervals the two stopped to listen, because there was nodoubt now in the mind of either that they were close to a large Indiancamp. A half hour of this, and they stopped longer than usual. Bothdistinctly heard a low chant. Arenberg knew that it was the song ofIndian women at work.

  "Phil," he said, "we are close by. Let us leave our horses here andsteal forward. We may lose the horses or we may not, but we cannotscout on horseback close up to the Indian camp."

  Phil did not hesitate. They fastened the horses to swinging boughs indense thickets, trusting them to the fortune that had been kind thusfar, and then crept through the snow and among the frees toward the lowsound of the chant. At the edge of a thicket of scrub cedar they kneltdown and looked through the snow-laden branches into an Indian villagethat lay in the valley beyond.

  It was a broad valley, with a creek now frozen over running through it,and the village, a large one, was evidently not more than a day or twoold, as many of the lodges were not yet finished. All these lodges wereof buffalo skin on poles, and the squaws were still at work on some ofthem. Others were beating buffalo meat or deer meat before the cookingfires, and yet others dragged from the snow the dead wood that lay aboutplentifully. Many warriors were visible here and there amid thebackground of flame, but they merely lounged, leaving the work to thesquaws.

  "It may be the band of Black Panther," said Phil.

  "I think it iss," said Arenberg, "but I also think it has been swollenby the addition of another band or two."

  The two were lying so close under the dwarf pines that Phil's arm waspressed against Arenberg's side, and he could feel the German tremblingall over. Phil knew perfectly that it was not fear, but a powerfulemotion that could thus shake the strong soul of his friend. Evidentlythe Indians had no thought of a foreign presence in a region so far fromany settlement. A feeling of good-humor seemed to pervade the village.It was obvious that they had found game in abundance, and thus theIndian's greatest want was filled.

  Some of the Indian women continued the low humming chant that Phil andArenberg had first heard, and others chattered as they worked about thefires. But Arenberg's eyes were for neither men nor women. He waswatching a group of children at the outskirts. They were mostly boys,ranging in years from eight to thirteen, and, despite the darkness andthe distance, he followed them with a gaze so intense, so full oflonging, that it was painful to Phil who saw it. But it was impossibleto distinguish. It was merely a group of Indian lads, half at play,half at work, and it would have been folly for the two to go closer.

  But only hope was in the soul of Arenberg. The mystic spell of thegreat woods was on him, and he did not believe that he had come so farmerely to lose at last. Phil suddenly felt his great frame shake under astronger quiver of emotion than before. About a third of the Indianboys, carrying tin pails or stone jars, moved up the creek.

  "Come," whispered Arenberg, in intense excitement. "They're going afterwater, where it is not defiled by offal from the village! We'll followthem on this side of the creek! See, the dwarf pines continue along thebank indefinitely!"

  Arenberg led the way, treading softly in the snow. He was now thedirector, and Phil obeyed him in everything. Besides his own perceptionof the critical,
Phil caught some of the intense excitement thatsurcharged every pore of Arenberg's being. He felt sure that somethingwas going to happen. The thought was like fire in his brain.

  The boys moved on toward a point where the ice had been broken already.The creek curved, and the village behind them passed out of sight,although its sounds could yet be heard plainly. Directly they came tothe water hole and filled the pails and jars. Arenberg's excitement wasincreasing. He was much closer to them now, and again he studied everyfigure with a concentration of vision that was extraordinary. Yet thenight was already dark, the figures were indistinct, and, to Phil atleast, one figure, barring size, looked just like another.

  The boys turned away, walked perhaps a dozen paces, and then Phil heardby his side a soft whistle, low, melodious, a bar of some quaint oldsong. It might have been mistaken in a summer night for the song of abird. The boys stopped, but moved on again in a moment, thinkingperhaps it was only fancy. Another ten feet, and that melodious whistlecame again, lower than ever, but continuing the quaint old song. Thethird boy from the rear stopped and listened a little longer than theothers. But the sound had been so faint, so clever an approach to thesighing of the wind among the pines, that the other boys seemed to takeno notice of it. Arenberg was moving along in a parallel line withthem, keeping behind the pines. Phil followed close behind him, andonce more he put his hand on his arm. Now he felt, with increasingforce, that the man was shaken by some tremendous internal excitement.

  "The third boy from the rear stopped and listened"]

  The file of Indian boys moved on, save the one who had been third fromthe last. He was carrying a pail of water, and he lingered, lookingcautiously in the direction whence the low whistle had come. He was asmall, strong figure, in Indian dress, a fur cap on his head. He seemedto be struggling with some memory, some flash out of the past. ThenArenberg, rising above the breast-work of pines, his head showingclearly over the topmost fringe, whistled a third bar of the old Germanfolk song, so low, so faint that to Phil himself it was scarcely morethan the sighing of the wind. The boy straightened up and the pail ofwater dropped from his hands upon the soft snow. Then he pursed hislips and whistled softly, continuing the lines of the melody.

  An extraordinary thrill, almost like the chill of the supernatural, randown Phil's back, but it was nothing to the emotion that shook theGerman. With a sudden cry: "It iss he!" Arenberg leaped entirely overthe pine bushes, ran across the frozen creek, and snatched up the boy inhis arms. It was Phil then who retained his coolness, luckily for themboth. He seized the fallen rifle and called:

  "Come! Come, Hans, come with the boy, we must ride for our lives now!"

  Arenberg came suddenly back to the real world and the presence of greatdanger, just when he had found his son. He lifted the boy in his arms,ran with him across the creek, up the slope, and through the bushes.Little Billy scarcely stirred, but remained with his arms clasped aroundhis father's neck. Already hostile sounds were coming from the Indiancamp. The Indian boys, at the sound of Arenberg's footsteps, had turnedback, and had seen what had happened.

  "We must reach the horses," cried Phil, retaining his full presence ofmind. "If we can do that before they wing us we'll escape. Run ahead.I'll bring your rifle."

  Arenberg, despite the weight of his boy, rushed toward the horses. Philkept close behind, carrying the two rifles. From the village came along, fierce cry, the Comanche war whoop. Then it came back from thesnowy forest in faint, dying echoes, full of menace. Phil knew that in afew moments the alert warriors would be on their ponies and in fullpursuit.

  "Faster, Hans! Faster!" he cried. "Never mind how much noise we maymake now or how broad a trail we may leave! To the horses! To thehorses!"

  The little boy was perfectly silent, clinging to his father's neck, andArenberg himself did not speak now. In a minute they reached the horses,untied them, and sprang upon their backs, Billy, as they always calledhim hereafter, sitting with a sure seat behind his father. Phil handedArenberg his rifle:

  "Take it," he said. "You may need it!"

  Arenberg received the weapon mechanically. Before, he had been theleader. Now Phil took the position. He dashed away in the forest,turning toward the east, and the hoofs of Arenberg's horse thudded onthe snow at his flank. They heard behind them the second shout of theComanches, who had now crossed the creek on their ponies. Arenbergsuddenly lifted his boy about and placed him in front of him. Philunderstood. If a bullet came, it was now Arenberg instead of his boywho would receive it.

  But it was not in vain that their horses had rested and eaten the sweet,clean grass so long. Now they obeyed the sudden call upon accumulatedstrength and energy, and, despite the double burden that Arenberg'shorse bore, raced on at a speed that yet held the Indian ponies out ofrifle shot.

  "We must keep to the east, Hans," said Phil, "because if we brought themdown on our friends at The Silver Cup we'd all be overpowered. Maybe wecan shake them off. If so, we'll take a wide curve to our place. Youride a little ahead now. I can use the rifle better, as you have tolook out for Billy besides yourself."

  Arenberg urged his horse to greater speed and continued about a lengthahead of Phil. Fortunately the forest was open here, and they could goat good speed without the dangers of tripping or becoming entangled.Phil looked back for the first time. He saw at some distance a halfdozen Comanches on their ponies, mere shadowy outlines in the dusk, buthe knew that more were behind them. His heart sank a little, too, whenhe remembered the tenacity of the Indians in pursuit.

  "They're not gaining, Hans," he said, "and if they do I'll shoot at thefirst who comes up. Keep a watch for a good path, and I'll follow."

  They galloped on an hour perhaps, and then the Indians began to yellagain. Two or three fired their rifles, although the bullets fellshort.

  "Don't worry, Hans," called Phil. "They're merely trying to frightenus. They have not gained."

  He sent back a taunting cry, twirled his own rifle in defiance, and thenremembered that it was the slender, long-barreled Kentucky weapon, thehighest of its type. He took another glance backward, but this was ameasuring one. "It will reach," was his thought. He turned his wholebody from the hips up in his saddle, took swift aim at the leadingComanche, and fired. The white smoke puffed from the muzzle of hisrifle, the report was uncommonly loud and sharp in the night, and thebullet went home. The leading Indian fell from his pony in the snow,and the pony ran away. A fierce cry of rage came from the Comanches.

  "It was well done, Herr Philip," said Arenberg. He did not look back,but he knew from the cry of the Indians that Phil's bullet had struckits target. The Comanches dropped back somewhat, but they were stillnear enough to keep the two flying horses in sight. Phil and Arenbergmaintained their course, which was leading far from The Silver Cup.Phil's brain was cooling with the long gallop, and his nerves werebecoming steadier. The change in himself caused him to notice otherchanges around him.

  The air felt damp to his face, and the night seemed to have growndarker. He thought at first that it was mere fancy, but when he lookedup he knew that it was the truth. He could not see the moon, and, justas he looked, the last star winked and went out. The damp touch on hisface was that of a snowflake, and, as he still looked, the dark cloudsstalked somberly across the sky.

  "The snow! the snow," he murmured in eager prayer. "Let it come! Itwill save us!"

  Another and larger flake dropped on his face, and--after it, came more,falling fast now, large and feathery. He looked back for the last time.Not a single pursuer could be seen in the heavy gloom. He felt thattheir chance had come. He rode up by the side of Arenberg.

  "Hans," he said, "turn sharp to the south. Look how the snow comesdown! It is impossible for them to follow us now. It does not matterhow we blunder along except that we must keep close together."

  "It iss good," said Arenberg, as he turned his horse's head. "The greatGod is putting a veil about us, and we are saved!"<
br />
  He spoke with unaffected solemnity, and Phil felt that his words weretrue. He felt, too, that they would not have escaped had it not beenfor the great snow that was now coming down. Surely a power hadintervened in their behalf.

  They rode southward for about an hour through forest, comparatively freefrom undergrowth, the two horses keeping so close together that theknees of their riders touched. The snow continued to fall, and theywent on, always in a dense white gloom, leaving to their horses thechoice of the path. They stopped finally under a huge tree, where theywere sheltered, in some degree, from the snow, and Arenberg made the boymore comfortable on the saddle behind.

  "Hello, Billy," said Phil. "Do you know that you've been away from homea long time? Your father was beginning to fear that you'd never comeback."

  The boy smiled, and, despite the Indian paint on his face, Phil sawthere the blue eyes and features of Arenberg. He guessed, too, that theblack hair under the cap would become gold as soon as the paint woreoff.

  "I not know at first," said Billy, speaking slowly and hesitatingly, asif it were difficult for him to remember the English language, "but thesong when I hear it one, two, three times, then it come back and Ianswered. I knew my father, too, when he picked me up."

  Arenberg gave him a squeeze, then he produced from his pocket somejerked venison, which Billy ate eagerly.

  "He's strong and hearty, that's evident," said Phil. "And, since wecannot leave any trail while the snow is pouring down in this way, Isuggest that we let our horses rest for awhile, and then ride asstraight as we can for The Silver Cup."

  "It iss well," said Arenberg. "Nothing but one chance in a thousandcould bring them upon us now, and God iss so good that I do not think Hewill let that chance happen."

  Arenberg spoke very quietly, but Phil saw that the words came from hisheart. The boy still preserved the singular stillness which he seemedto have learned from the Indians, but he held firmly to his father. Nowand then he looked curiously at Phil. Phil chucked him under the chinand said:

  "Quite a snow, isn't it, Billy?"

  "I'm not afraid of snow," rejoined the boy, in a tone that seemed todefy any kind of a storm.

  "Good thing," said Phil, "but this is a fine snow, a particularly finesnow. It has probably saved us all."

  "Where are you going?" asked Billy.

  "Where are we going?" said Phil. "Well, when this snow lightens alittle we are going to ride a long distance through the woods. Perhapswe'll ride until morning. Then, when morning comes, we'll keep onriding, although it may not be in the forest. We'll make a great circleto the south, and there, at the edge of the forest, we'll come to abeautiful clear little lake that four men I know call The Silver Cup,only you can't get at the contents of that cup just now, as it has afine ice covering. But overlooking The Silver Cup is a fine rocky hollowwith a neat little thatched cabin in it. We call the hollow and thecabin The Dip, and in it are two of the four persons, your father and Ibeing the other two.

  "It's a fine little place, a snug little place, Billy, and there isn'tany lodge anywhere on this whole continent of North America that isequal to it. There is a big flat stone at one end on which we build ourfire, and just above it is a vent to carry off the smoke.

  "Hanging about that cabin are some of the most beautiful skins and fursyou ever saw. And then we have rifles and pistols and knives andhatchets, and a shovel and an ax or two, and big soft blankets, and,when we are all in the hut at night, every fellow rolled in his warmblanket, as you will be, being a brave new comrade, and when the windroars outside, and the hail and the snow beat against it and never touchyou, then you feel just about as fine as anybody can ever feel. It'ssurely a glorious life that's ahead of you, Billy Arenberg. Those othertwo fellows who are waiting for you, Billy, are as good as any you eversaw. One of them is my brother, who has just escaped from a greatprison, where wicked men held him for a long time, just as you haveescaped, Billy, from the savages, to whom you don't belong, and theother is the bravest, oddest, wisest, funniest man you ever saw. Youcan't help liking him the very first moment you see him. He talks alot, but it's all worth hearing. Now and then he makes up queer rhymes.I don't think he could get them printed, but we like them all the same,and they always mean just what they say, which isn't generally the wayof poetry. I see right now, Billy, that that man and you are going tobe great friends. His name is William, just like yours, WilliamBreakstone, but he's Bill and you are Billy. It will be fine to have aBill and a Billy around the camp."

  The boy's eyes glistened. All sorts of emotion awoke within him.

  "Won't it be fine?" he said. "I want to see that camp."

  Phil had spoken with purpose. He had seen what Arenberg, thinking onlyof his recovered son, had failed to see, that the boy, taken in hisearly childhood and held so long, had acquired something of the Indiannature. He had recognized his father and he had clung to him, but hewas primitive and as wild as a hawk. The escape from the Indian villagehad been no escape for him at all, merely a transference. Phil nowdevoted himself to the task of calling him back to the white world towhich he belonged.

  All the time as they rode forward in the snow, Phil talked to him of thegreat things that were to be seen where the white men dwelled. He madetheir lives infinitely grander and more varied than those of theIndians. He told of the mighty battle in which his father had been acombatant. Here the boy's eyes glistened more than ever.

  "My father is a great warrior," he exclaimed happily.

  "One of the greatest that ever lived," said Phil. "There were more men,Billy, at that place we call Buena Vista than all the Comanche warriorsput together several times over. And there were many cannon, great gunson wheels, shooting bullets as big as your head and bigger, and thebattle went on all day. You couldn't hear yourself speak, the cannonand rifles roared so terribly and without ever stopping, and the smokewas greater than that of the biggest prairie fire you ever saw, andthousands of men and horses, with long lances, charged again and again.And your father stood there all day helping to beat them back."

  Phil did not wish to speak so much of battle and danger, but he judgedthat this would appeal most to the boy, who had been taught by theComanches that valor and fighting were the greatest of all things. Theboy exclaimed:

  "My father is one of the greatest of all warriors! He is a chief! Heand you and I and the other two of whom you speak will go with a greatarmy and beat the Mexicans again!"

  Phil laughed and turned the talk more to the chase, the building ofcabins in the wilderness, and of great explorations across the prairiesand through the hills. He still held the interest of the boy, and Philsaw the soul of the white race growing stronger and stronger within him.Arenberg listened, too, and at last he understood. He gave his comradea look of gratitude. That, Phil always considered one of the greatestrewards he ever received.

  They finally found a partial shelter in a ravine protected by trees, andhere they dismounted in order to rest the horses and shake the snow fromthemselves. But they were not suffering from the snow. They were allwarmly clad, and, as usual in the West in winter, Phil and Arenbergcarried heavy blankets at their saddle horns. One of these had alreadybeen wrapped around Billy, and when they dismounted he remained clad inits folds. The fall of snow was lightening somewhat, enabling them tosee perhaps twenty feet farther into it, but it was still a vast whitegloom.

  "I think it will stop before morning," said Arenberg, "and then we canmake much greater speed. Are you sleepy, Billy?"

  "I do not sleep when we are in danger," replied the boy.

  He spoke with such youthful pride that Phil smiled. Yet the boy meantit. His wild life had certainly harmed neither his spirit nor his body.He was taller and heavier than most boys of his age, and Phil could seethat he was as wiry and sinewy as a young panther. He seemed to endurethe hardships of the night quite as well as Phil or his father.

  "Snow is warm if there is something between you and it," said Phil."Let's
scrape out a place here against the bank, throw up the snowaround us in walls, and rest until daylight. It will be a little hardon the horses, but they seem to be doing fairly well there against thetrees."

  "It iss wisdom that you speak," said Arenberg.

  They threw back the snow until they made a den against the cliff, andthe three, wrapped from head to foot in their heavy blankets, crouchedin it close together. The snow fell upon the blankets, and, at times,when it lay too thick, they threw it all off. Billy seemed perfectlycontented. Either he had no awe of the wilderness, or the presence ofthe others was enough for him. He had all the quietness and taciturnityof a little Indian lad. He did not speak at all, and did not move. Byand by his eyes closed and he slept soundly. Arenberg drew the blanketa little more closely, until only the mouth and nose showed from theblanket, his breath making a white rim around the aperture. ThenArenberg said in a whisper to Phil:

  "Young Herr Philip, you have helped me to get back my own. I cannotrepay you."

  "I am repaying _you_," said Phil. "You have _already_ helped me."

  After that they did not speak for a long time. The snow became lighterand lighter, then it ceased entirely. The horses were quiet in theshelter of the trees, and Phil was so snug and warm that he fell into abeautiful sleep, from which he was aroused by Arenberg.

  "It iss day, Herr Philip," he said. "Look how the sun shines on thesnow."

  Phil drew himself out of the hole and looked at a white world, tintedsilver in the early dawn.

  "Yes, it is time for us to go," he said. "Wake Billy, and we'll ride."

  But Billy was already awake, his small face illumined with curiosity andinterest.

  "Now we will ride," he said to Phil, "and see the men of whom you havetold me."

  They had some food left, and, after eating it to the last particle, theymounted their horses and rode with as much speed as was wise in the deepsnow. Both Phil and Arenberg had an excellent idea of direction, and,guided by the sun, they rode straight toward The Silver Cup. But thesnow was so deep and heavy that they were compelled to stop often to lettheir horses rest, and nearly a whole day passed before they saw thefamiliar trees and slopes that marked the approach to The Silver Cup.It was a glad sight. They were thoroughly exhausted with a day ofplowing through the snow, and the horses were in the same condition. Atrace of smoke marked the point at which The Dip lay.

  "They're at home to callers, or at least one of them is," said Phil,"and I'll be glad to be on the inside of that hut again, with real redcoals before me on a stone hearth."

  In order to give the horses an equal chance, Billy, through the day, hadridden alternately behind Phil and his father. Now he was behindArenberg, and he leaned forward eagerly to see. Before him lay a sortof path trampled in the snow, and, suddenly leaping from the horse, heran forward with the agility and speed of a deer.

  Bill Breakstone and John Bedford were inside the little thatched hut,and the red coals of which Phil had spoken in fancy were really burningon the hearth. They had made no search for Phil and Arenberg in thedeep snow, knowing that such a thing was useless. There was not onechance in a thousand that they could find them, while Phil and Arenberg,strong, capable, and brave, were sure to come back. So they took theirrest and made the place as comfortable as possible for the return oftheir partners, who would certainly be cold and hungry.

  "John, keep that coffee ready to put on," said Bill Breakstone. "Youknow that your brother loves coffee when he comes in out of the snow andthe cold."

  "It will be ready any minute," replied John Bedford. "And I'm glad,Bill, you thought of that little pot of tea for Arenberg. You know heloves to have it about once a week."

  "So I do," said Bill Breakstone. "Good old Hans. I suppose that he andPhil made a burrow somewhere in the woods, and slept in it last night.Naturally it's slow traveling back here through such a deep snow. Nowwhat under the sun is that?"

  The rude door of their little thatch was suddenly thrown open, and asmall painted face thrust in. But the eyes in the painted face staringat them so intently, were blue, although they did not then notice thefact.

  "A little Indian boy," said Bill Breakstone, rising. "Probably he gotlost from a band in the storm and has stumbled upon us. We wouldn'twelcome a lot of warriors, but we won't repel one boy. Come in, RedJacket, Tecumseh, Powhatan, or whatever your name may be. We won't hurtyou."

  To his immense surprise the boy walked boldly in, came straight up tohim, and said, in excellent English: "I know that you are BillBreakstone, and I want to hear you make rhymes."

  Bill stared and stared. It was perhaps the first and last time in hislife that he was dumfounded. But two larger figures came in immediatelybehind the boy, and Phil said:

  "Mr. William Breakstone, I wish to introduce our new friend and comrade,Master William Arenberg. As 'William' seems a trifle pompous, he is tobe known as Billy to distinguish him from you, who remain the Bill thatyou always have been. Look this way, Billy, and you will see mybrother, John Bedford."

  Hans Arenberg stood by, so happy that tears rose in his eyes. But BillBreakstone came at once from his cloud of surprise. He snatched the boyup in his arms and gave him a big hug.

  "Well, Billy," he cried, "here you are at last! I don't know how theygot you, but they've brought you. Now my first duty as housekeeper is towash our little boy's face."

  He took water from a pail and promptly cleaned all the paint off Billy'sface. Then Billy stood forth a white and not an Indian boy, and, withthe departure of the paint, nearly all that was left of his acquiredIndian nature seemed to go, too. While Phil and Arenberg told the storyof the new miracle, he made himself easily at home, examining everythingin the hut with minute care, and, by his actions, notifying BillBreakstone and John Bedford that he was ready at once for a cordialfriendship.

  "Tea is ready! So is coffee," announced Bill Breakstone presently."Now sit down, eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you may not havesuch a good chance."

  They charged with avidity, and little Billy Arenberg proved that he wasalready a mighty trencherman in the making.

  "I wish I had some German blood in me, then I could eat with a fairappetite," said Bill Breakstone, as he reached for a huge buffalo steak.

  CHAPTER XXII

  BREAKSTONE'S QUEST

  It was nearly night, and they quickly agreed that they must not remainany longer in The Dip, however comfortable it might be. The Comancheswere bound to find them in time, and the longer their lead the better.

  "The night is going to be clear," said Breakstone, "and we must leavejust as soon as we can pack our things on our horses. Everythingindicates that the country toward the west slopes down rapidly, and wemay soon pass out of the area of deep snow. Besides, we want to gotoward the west. It's my turn now, and my search lies there."

  "It iss so," said Arenberg with deep feeling. "You have helped all therest of us, and we would not be fit to live if we did not now help you."

  "I knew that you would not think of anything else," said Breakstonesimply. "I'll tell you about it a little later, but now we'll start assoon as we can, and maybe we can come back some day and enjoy The SilverCup again."

  The horses were brought from the sheltered valley, and their provisionsand other supplies were strapped on them. They soon discovered thatBilly knew how to ride very well, and the gentlest of the horses wasassigned to him, although he slept during the early part of the night.But when he was roused he was full of zeal and interest, and he was alsoso alert and active that he proved himself a help instead of a burden.

  At midnight, they put out the fire and left a cold hearth. Then, withsome reluctant glances backward at The Dip and the snowy cover of TheSilver Cup, they rode away in single file, Breakstone leading, Philnext, followed by John, behind whom came Billy, with Arenberg at therear. It was cold, but they were sufficiently clad, and they rode onuntil daylight, the dry snow crunching beneath
the hoofs of theirhorses.

  The descent proved to be sharp, and when daylight came they were in aregion where the snow was very light. They saw the plains before themand below them, and they believed that by noon they would be entirelybeyond the expanse of snow.

  "By the time those Comanches discover our abandoned home," said BillBreakstone, "it's likely that we'll be days and days away. We'll neversee them again because our journey leads west and always west, farbeyond the Comanche country."

  "I learned from Billy," said Phil, "that it was really Black Panther whowas in command back there. Billy had been with another band, fartherwest, which last spring was incorporated into the more powerful force ofBlack Panther. The chief was treating Billy well, and was going toadopt him as his son."

  "Then I am glad that we shall fight no more with Black Panther," saidArenberg.

  "So am I," said Breakstone thoughtfully. "I suppose the chief has actedaccording to his lights. If we'd been roaming over the country forages, we'd fight for it, too. Well, good-by to you, Black Panther, Iwish you many a good buffalo hunt, but that no white people may fallinto your hands."

  At noon, as they had expected, they passed through the last thin sheetof snow and entered warm country. But it was not desert here. It was aregion of buffalo grass, with shallow streams and scattered timber. Itwas very pleasant after so much riding through the snow, and, afterresting an hour by the side of one of the rivulets, they kept on untilnight. They were not compelled to spend any time in hunting a camp, butstopped under a clump of trees, turned the horses loose to graze on theplentiful grass, and spread their own blankets on the turf. They weretoo tired to light a fire, but they ate heartily of the cold food, andthen lay back comfortably on the blankets. Billy fell asleep in a fewminutes, but the others did not yet feel the desire for slumber. Theride of a day and half a night had not been hard, but, as much of thatride had been downward, the change was wonderful. Gone was the deepsnow, gone the biting winds. They wrestled with neither the ice nor thedesert, but lay upon a carpet of pine needles and breathed an air thatcame, crisp with life, from the mountains. Bill Breakstone luxuriatedin it, and finally, observing that the others were not asleep, he satup.

  "Boys," he said, "I think the time has come for me to tell you about theerrand that has brought me so far, and that's going to take me a lotfarther. I haven't said anything about the nature of it before, becauseit was the one that could wait longest. Sit up and look at what I'mgoing to show you."

  They sat up on their blankets, and he took from his pocket a littlepackage which he unwrapped and looked at a moment or two. Then hepoured the contents out upon his blanket. They looked like gravel orgrains of stone, but the moon was good then, and from some of the grainscame a slight metallic glitter, like pin-points of light.

  "That," said Bill Breakstone in deeply impressive tones, "is gold."

  "It looks more like gravel to me," said John Bedford.

  "It is gravel, too," said Breakstone, "gravel, and gold in the gravel."

  "About how much iss your gold worth?" asked Arenberg skeptically.

  "Fifty cents, maybe," replied Bill Breakstone.

  "Which wouldn't carry you far."

  "No, it wouldn't," said Breakstone genially. "But see here, my merryDutchman, a man may have a million dollars in the bank, and carry only adime in his pocket. That's me. This is my sample, my specimen. It camefrom a spot far away, but there's a million more, or something like it,there waiting for us. Listen to me, Sir Philip of the River and thePlain, Sir Hans of the Forest and the Snow, and even you, Sir John ofthe Castle and the Cell, and I will tell you a glittering tale which istrue."

  Every one moved forward a few inches on his blanket, and their figuresgrew tense with interest. The moon sent a broad shaft of light throughan opening in the trees directly upon the face of Bill Breakstone,showing eyes that sparkled with the pleasure of one who held a greatsecret that he was willing to tell to others.

  "I'm not joking," continued Bill Breakstone earnestly. "I'm a rover, butI find when I rove. There's gold, lots of it, far west across the greatmountains in California. You find it in the sand and gravel along theedges of streams which are dry most of the year. A man can generally dothe work all by himself, with water and a pan, sifting the gold dustfrom the baser stuff.

  "It's a terribly wild country of hills and of tremendously highmountains covered with snow. When the snow melts and the water comesdown into these dry creek and river beds it comes with a mighty rush,and it washes the gold from the rocks along with it. At least, that'smy theory, and the gold has been piling up for ages in dust and grainsalong the edges of these beds in the valleys below. I found this dustin a wild country about a thousand miles from here, but I can gostraight back to the place."

  The others were continually creeping a little nearer and a little neareron their blankets, and the moonlight which found new openings throughthe trees showed three more pairs of eyes sparkling with excitement.

  "Why did you come away after you found the gold?" asked Phil.

  "Because I lacked supplies. Because I was alone. Because Californiabelonged to the Mexicans. Because the Indians were dangerous to oneman. Any of these reasons was good enough, but we can take supplies inabundance. I will not be alone. I doubt very much whether Californianow belongs to the Mexicans, or will belong to them much longer, and itis very likely that the Indians have wandered off into some otherregion. Boys, after so many dangers we'll all be rich."

  "But, Bill," said Phil, "we can't take your gold, which you found afterso much hardship and danger."

  Bill Breakstone gave Phil Bedford a threatening look.

  "I wish you to listen to a few words of wisdom," he said in a menacingtone, "and take care that you listen well. If I hear any more suchfoolishness from you, Sir Philip of the River and the Plain, you'll loseyour golden spurs and your silver breastplate and your steel helmet andall your titles. You'll be degraded into the position of a commonvarlet to pull off my shoes, to bring me the mead to quaff, and to havea spear shaft broken over your wooden head when you're not bright andlively. And to you, Hans Arenberg, I give the same advice. I'll makeyou the King's Jester, and, with that solemn Prussian face of yours andthat solemn Prussian mind of yours, you'll find jesting for me about ashard a task as any man ever undertook. And you, John Bedford, I willdeliver bound hand and foot to your friend Captain Pedro de Armijo withthe great red scar across his face which you put there. What a crisplittle revenge he would take! I can see you now frying over the coals."

  "But, Bill," persisted Phil, "it's your find."

  "I know it, but you needn't think that ends everything. It's only thebeginning. We've got to get back to that dead river of mine, and forthat I need comrades. We've got to do weeks and weeks of work, and forthat I need comrades. We've got to fight off danger, Indians perhaps,Mexicans perhaps, outlaws perhaps, and for that I need comrades. Afterwe get the gold we've got to bring it safely to civilization, and forthat I need comrades. Also, there is so much of the gold in the bed ofthe dead river that I could not spend it all alone, and for that I needcomrades. Now will you come willingly and share and share alike withme, or shall I have to yoke up together and drive you unwillingly?"

  "We'll come," said Phil, and John and Arenberg added their assent.

  "I wish the Captain was with us, too," said Bill Breakstone. "Hebelongs in this crowd, and he ought to have some of the gold."

  Phil and Arenberg echoed his regret at the absence of Middleton.

  "Now that it is all settled," said Bill Breakstone, "I'm going tosleep."

  In five minutes he was sound in slumber, and the others soon followedhim to that pleasant land.

  They resumed their journey the next morning, but they advanced inleisurely fashion. Breakstone warned them that there were other highranges ahead, and they agreed that it would not be wise to attempt theirpassage in winter. Hence, they must find a winter home in somesheltered spot, where the three requis
ites of wild life, wood, water,and game, could be found. It did not take them long to find such aplace, and they built a rude cabin, using it as their base during theremainder of the winter, which was mild, as they were not at a greatelevation. Although they made an occasional scout, they never found anyIndian sign, and the cold weather passed in comparative ease and safety.Little Billy developed at a remarkable rate, and here he sloughed offthe last vestige of the Indian. But he had learned many cunning arts inhunting, trapping, and fishing which he never forgot, and there weresome things pertaining to these in which he could instruct his elders.

  Not a single hunter, trapper, or rover of any kind passed through duringthe winter months, and they often wondered what was going on in theworld without.

  "I'd surely like to see the Captain again," said Bill Breakstone onecold evening as they sat by their fire. "Just to think of all that hewent through with us, and now he's vanished into thin air. Maybe he'sdead, killed in some battle a thousand miles down in Mexico."

  "I don't believe the Captain is killed," spoke up Phil promptly. "Idon't believe that he's the kind of man who would be killed. But a lotof things must have happened since we left. There must have been somebig fighting away down there by the City of Mexico. Do you think wecould have been whipped, Bill?"

  "Phil, I've half a mind to take away all your titles without anotherword," replied Breakstone reprovingly. "How could you think of our beingwhipped, after what you saw at Buena Vista?"

  "That's so," said Phil, his cheerfulness coming back at once.

  Late in the spring they began the passage of the ranges, and although itwas a long, hard, and sometimes dangerous task, they got safely acrosswith all their horses, coming again into a plains country, which mergedfarther west into a desert. Here they were about to make a great loopnorthward, around the Mexican settlements, when they met an Americansoldier carrying dispatches. They hailed him, and, when he stopped,they rode forward, all eagerness. It was deputed to Bill Breakstone toask the momentous question, and he asked it:

  "How is the war going on?"

  The soldier looked at them, amused little crinkles at the corners of hismouth. He knew by their appearance that these were people who had beenlong in the wilderness.

  "It isn't getting on at all," he replied.

  "What!" cried Bill Breakstone appalled.

  "It isn't going on, because it's all over. General Scott marchedstraight to the City of Mexico. He fought a half dozen terriblebattles, but he won every one of them, and then took the City of Mexicoitself. A treaty of peace was signed February 2 last. You are ridingnow on American soil. New Mexico, Arizona, California, and vast regionsto the north of us have been ceded to the United States."

  "Hurrah!" they cried together, Billy joining in with as much enthusiasmas the others.

  "What about Santa Fe?" asked Bill Breakstone.

  "It's occupied by an American garrison, and there is complete peaceeverywhere. The only danger is from wandering Indians."

  "We know how to fight them," said Bill Breakstone. "Boys, we ride forSanta Fe."

  The soldier continued northward, and they turned the heads of theirhorses toward the New Mexico capital, reaching, in good time and withoutloss, the queer little old Spanish and Indian town from which the flagsof Spain and then of Mexico had disappeared forever. They intended toremain only two or three days in order to obtain more horses and freshsupplies. Then they would slip quietly out of the town, because theywished their errand to be known to nobody. On the second day BillBreakstone and Phil were walking together, when a man in sober civiliandress suddenly seized a hand of each in a firm grasp, and exclaimed injoy:

  "Why, boys, when did you come here?"

  "The Captain!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone. "How things do come around!"

  It was Middleton, his very self, thinner and browner, but with the samefine open countenance and alert look. Bill and his comrade explainedrapidly about the rescue of John Bedford, the recovery of little BillyArenberg, and their passage through the mountains.

  "And now," said Breakstone, "you tell us, Captain, how you happen to beup here in Santa Fe in civilian dress."

  Middleton smiled a little sadly as he replied:

  "The war is over. We won many brilliant victories. We were never beatenonce. And I'm glad it's over, but there is nothing left for themajority of the younger officers. I should probably remain a captainall the rest of my life at some obscure frontier station, and so I'veresigned from the army."

  A light leaped up in Bill Breakstone's eyes, but he asked very quietly:

  "And what are you meaning to do now, Captain?"

  "I don't know, but I've been hearing talk about gold in California, andperhaps I'll go there to hunt it."

  "Of course you will!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone, letting himself go."You're going to start to-morrow, and you're going with us. I knowright where that gold is, and I'm going to lead you and the rest of theboys to it. You remember that every one of us had a quest that drew usinto the West. The secret of the gold is mine. We need you and weshare alike. As I've told the others, there's enough for all."

  Middleton was easily persuaded, and they left Santa Fe the next morningbefore daylight, taking little Billy Arenberg with them. They traveleda long time toward the northwest, crossing mountains and deserts, untilthey reached the mighty range of the Sierra Nevada. This, too, theycrossed without accident or loss, and then Bill Breakstone led themstraight to the dead river and up its channel to the hidden gold. Herehe dug in the bank and showed them the result.

  "Am I right or am I wrong?" he asked exultantly.

  "Right!" they replied with one voice.

  At first they washed out the gold, but afterward they used both thecradle and the sluice methods. The deposits were uncommonly rich, andthey worked there all through the summer and winter. The next spring,Middleton and Arenberg carried a great treasure of gold on horses to SanFrancisco. They also took Billy Arenberg with them, but on their wayback they left him, to his huge regret, at a good school in Sacramento,while they rejoined their comrades on the great Breakstone claim. Theyexhausted it in another year, but they were all now as rich as theywished to be, and they descended into the beautiful valley ofCalifornia, where they expected to make their homes.

  THE END