CHAPTER VIII.
THE CAMP AT THE SPRING.
"Crockett, there isn't any use talking. We've an awful tough job cutout."
The old bear-hunter had stuck his coonskin cap upon the muzzle of hisrifle, and he stared up at it for a moment.
"Reckon we have," he said; "but we kin skirmish around the corners ofit somehow. I've been in tight places before now, but I allers crawledout or fought out."
"We'll have to fight out this time," said the large, determined-lookingman he was talking with. "But what on earth are we to do for money?"
"We're played out," replied Crockett, thoughtfully. "We've borrowedall we could. We've taxed till we can't put on any more. Uncle Samwon't let us have any. Houston, we're in a hole."
"The worst of it is right here," continued Houston. "If thelegislature lays a tax, all the cash is appropriated before it'scollected. What I want is some money to spend without giving anyaccount of it. We want a powder-and-lead fund. I've spent all I had."
"You kin skin my pile," said Crockett. "Wish thar was more of it.We're torn down poor. We might almost be whipped by Santa Anna forwant of money to keep the men in the field. Think of losing the Alamo!"
"I couldn't help it just now if we did," groaned Houston. "It's safeyet."
"'Tis till somebody comes to take it," was the ominous response ofCrockett, as he lowered his rifle and put on his coonskin. "Just as Itold ye. Travis is off on his scout with half the garrison. Bowiewent on that expedition of his, and I hope he may get back. Thar isn'tenough powder in the fort to fire all the guns more'n twice 'round. Noprovisions to speak of. No nothin'. If Greasers enough came, theycould a' most walk right in."
"They're not ready to come yet," said Houston; "but they're coming,Davy! There 'll be blood when they get in as far as the Alamo!"
"You bet thar will!" shouted Crockett, springing to his feet. "I meanto be thar when they come. We kin hold it ag'in' all Mexico if we'vemen and powder."
The two Texan patriots were not in any house. They had been sittingside by side upon a log not far from a rail-fence corner where theirhorses were hitched. From what they said it appeared that they had metthere by appointment. It was as good a parlor as such men needed todiscuss affairs of state in. Houston had now risen, and they werewalking toward their horses.
"Crockett," he said, "it's time for me to git up and git. You go on toWashington. See what you can do. Inquire about rifles and cannon andammunition."
"Well," replied Crockett, "money's the best kind of am'nition, but weneedn't forget one thing. Santa Anna feels a kind of bowel grip rightthar. He can't fetch as many rancheros as he'd like to cross the RioGrande with. He'd ruther 'tend a cock-fight any day than meet us in ashootin' match, onless he was ten to one."
"I wouldn't mind four to one," said Houston, "but I would mind beingcut up for lack of powder to shoot with."
"You bet!" said Crockett, bitterly. "Think of bein' jest murdered byGreasers!"
They had reached their horses, and in a moment more they were steadilygalloping northward.
A very undefined domain was the vast region to which the Spanishconquerors had given the name of Texas. They had never thoroughlyexplored it, nor had they determined its boundaries. Its northerlyline was that of the then French province of Louisiana, and that was asuncertain as the weather. It might be said to begin at the Sabine Passon the sea-shore. From that it was supposed to wander inland. TheUnited States surveyors had made their own maps after Jeffersonpurchased Louisiana from Napoleon, but they had no direct French orSpanish help.
Westward, Texas was believed to have a limit somewhere among the as yetunvisited mountains and plains. No line had been fixed on that side.Southward, the old Spanish maps, and afterwards the Mexican copies ofthem, were at variance as to whether the Nueces River or the Rio Grandemarked the Texas border. This was of less consequence so long as Texasshould belong to Mexico, but, a few years later, those conflicting mapsplayed an important part in bringing about the war with the UnitedStates. All of that record belongs to history, and so does the olderclaim that Texas never, at any time, belonged to Spain, but was, inpart at least, French territory, and was sold to the United States,accordingly, along with Louisiana.
It is history now, but that history had not been made up when, latethat day, Colonel Bowie and his men rode out of the long ravine andfound themselves upon an open prairie. It was dotted here and therewith groves of oak. Much more interesting at first to the mountedmarksmen was the fact that it was also dotted by several small drovesof wild cattle.
"Buffalo!" exclaimed Bowie. "I didn't think of meeting any here. Wemust have one. Then we'll go into camp as soon as we can find water."
"Ugh!" came instantly from the Lipan boy. "Red Wolf find heap water."
"Bully!" said the colonel. "This used to be a Lipan hunting-ground.Go ahead. Find us a good spring."
Red Wolf had his orders and off he went, while Jim Cheyne looked afterhim and remarked emphatically,--
"That young chap's going to be a buster. But now, boys, don't let'sload up too much with meat. One good critter's all we want."
"All right," replied one of his comrades; "but, Jim, if we keep ourhair on overnight thar won't be any time wasted on huntin' to-morrow."
"We shall strike straight for the Nueces, and then for the Rio Grande,"said Bowie. "Great Bear hasn't let up on us, and we must look out forhim all the time. He's just death on a trail."
"You kin swar to that," added Cheyne. "He's as ready to ride intoMexico, too, as we are. How's that, Tetzcatl?"
"_Bueno!_" snapped the dark-faced panther. "Comanches find Bravo'slancers beyond the river. Kill them all."
He gave no reason for the resentful feeling he had shown against GreatBear, but loud chuckles among the men expressed their approval of hisidea that if the Comanches should meet the lancers the story of theKilkenny cats would be repeated.
A general hunt was forbidden on account of the horses, and only two menwent out as buffalo butchers.
On leaving his party, Red Wolf rode in a kind of long circuit insteadof aiming at the nearest grove. He galloped a full mile before he gaveany reason why he had not gone in a straight line. He may have been alittle uncertain about his landmarks, but he made no considerable errorin his calculations.
"Ugh!" he exclaimed, as he pulled in upon the crest of a prairie rolland looked forward earnestly. "Heap hole. Big stone. Big Knife getwater."
He was near the brink of a deep and remarkable hollow. It was almostregularly funnel-shaped, and on the opposite side of it sat a largeboulder of granite. Such "sink-holes" can be found only in limestoneformations. They are supposed to lead to caverns and subterraneanwatercourses. The presence of a mass of granite was, therefore, one ofthe many puzzles for geologists. Perhaps it had floated there upon acake of ice. Then the ice had melted; the water had run off down thesink-hole; and the boulder was left to supply the red hunters of theplains with a perpetual guide-board.
"Big stone here," he said. "Water there."
The direction in which he rode away gave his words an explanation. Hewent as straight as an arrow for more than another mile, hardlyglancing aside, either at groves of trees or herds of fat bisons.
Meantime, the white men he was providing refreshment for rode slowlyonward. They heard a brace of rifle reports, and took the success oftheir hunters for granted. They remarked to each other, however, thatgood luck was with them, for "bufler" were getting scarcer year afteryear so far as that to the eastward.
"One of these days," said Bowie, "they'll all be gone. This 'll becorn land then, and every farmer 'll raise his own beef."
"He'll kill it for himself, too," laughed Cheyne. "I don't want to behere then. I'd ruther have my beef runnin' round the prairie for freeshootin'."
Bowie's eyes were all the while busy in a search for "sign." He hadfound none near his present line of march, but if he could have lookedback upon his entire
trail he would have seen several things tointerest him.
The first point was in the timber at the upper end of the long ravine.A dozen braves of the Comanches were grouped, on foot, around theopening through which Tetzcatl had so suddenly disappeared. They werewatching, bow in hand, as if it had been the den of some wild animal,or rather as if, possibly, some returning Texan might at any momentshow himself as a target.
Not far down the ravine, but on the upper level on one side of it,three more braves sat in silence by the body of their tribesman who hadbeen slain by the bullet of Cheyne or Bowie. Every now and then theypeered over into the gorge below and listened as if for the sounds ofhorse-hoofs upon the gravelly bottom. Watchers had been set,therefore, to intercept any returning ranger. That was only by way ofprecaution, in case of an escape from the other part of the relentlesspursuit.
Miles and miles away, along the route of the winding cleft and on itswesterly side, rode twice as many Comanches as had been with Great Bearwhen first he had been seen by Red Wolf, on the plain beyond thechaparral, two days before. His reinforcements had arrived and he wasready for extensive mischief.
At point after point, wherever the ravine was approachable and descentinto it fairly easy, a warrior on foot, sometimes even on horseback,would go down and search any soft earth at the side of the little rillat the bottom. Then he would swiftly return, report that he had foundthe trail; that Bowie's men were farther down, all of them; and theband would ride steadily on.
Of course, this did not mean rapid riding, but it did mean a deadly andpersistent pursuit. It meant a bloody revenge for slain warriors.
One brave was now sent back after the squad of watchers, but GreatBear's force was a very strong one without them. Yet other braves wereriding fast and far in the advance.
Sooner or later it was sure that such a following, by trailers soskilful and so determined, would bring them near enough for a sweepingblow. What could half a dozen rangers and one Lipan boy do against theoverwhelming rush of a hundred and fifty warriors?
Red Wolf did not actually come back to his white friends. He only rodenear enough to whoop to them and to wave his lance, as if inviting themto follow.
"That's high!" exclaimed Jim Cheyne. "We might ha' hunted for waterall night if it hadn't been for him."
"It takes an Indian sometimes," replied the colonel. "But this crowdwon't make a long camp on this prairie."
"You bet!" came from several voices at once, and away they rode afterthe young Lipan.
It was a very pretty place for a camp, when they came to look at it.Nearly an acre of ground was occupied by tall, old sycamores andspreading oaks, and outside of these were bushes. In the middle of allwas a fine spring, from which a tiny brooklet rippled out into theplain. Close around the spring the ground had been trodden hard by thehoofs of many generations of buffalo and deer, but there was plenty ofgrass without picketing their horses outside of the grove.
"Boys," said Bowie, "if Great Bear should find us, he'll have bravesenough to corral us in such a place as this. They could just ridearound and around, out of shot, and pen us in till we starved."
"That's so," put in a short, bandy-legged ranger whom the others hadcalled "Joe," without troubling themselves to add any other name; "butI reckon we won't wait to be penned in. What I'm a-thinkin' of jestnow is bufler hump."
He had the entire sympathy of his hungry comrades, and they did nothave to wait long. The fire was hardly up in good shape before the twohunters rode in, bringing the best pieces of a fine "bufler."
"Now we're all right for rations," said Jim Cheyne; "but I'd like toknow what's went with that young Lipan wolf."
Every man glanced quickly around him, but the son of Castro was nowhereto be seen. He had been as ready for his supper as any white man, butstronger than anything else was his feeling that he was on his firstwar-path. He was a brave of the Lipans, with a new name and a newknife. He had already won some glory and he was burning for more. Asfor even buffalo "hump," a Lipan warrior who could not go without hisdinner had never yet been heard of.
He had mounted silently, therefore, and had galloped away, straightback, along the line by which he had first come to the grove andspring. He and his pony had been watered, and the latter had nibbled alittle grass, but that was all.
"Comanche come to hole," he said to himself, as he rode along. "RedWolf see."
The plan in his head seemed to include nothing more than scouting duty,but this was of a peculiar and dangerous kind.
The shadows were deepening in the groves and on the prairie when RedWolf reached the sink-hole, but he was able to examine it carefully.The sides of the funnel-shaped hollow were not too steep in someplaces, and he led his mustang half-way down. He picketed him there,upon a slope where he could stand, a little uncomfortably, and pickgrass, which was greener than any on the outside prairie. As soon asthis was cared for, Red Wolf went up again and stationed himself by theboulder. There was quite enough granite for one watcher to hide behind.
"Ugh!" he said. "Texan too much fire. Comanche find camp. Where BigKnife?"
It required eyes like his to detect, at that distance, a few faintsparks which had floated up above the trees and an exceedingly dullglow of light that was just then showing.
"Texan heap fool!" he exclaimed. "Great Bear come. Ugh!"
He hardly did his white chief justice, however, for Colonel Bowie waseven then ordering the fire to be smothered as soon as the needfulcooking could be done. There would be no more sparks nor any glow tobetray the camp.
"Colonel," said Joe in reply, "it's all right, but we'd better jest lopdown and snooze. Mebbe it's all the chance we'll git for a nap."
"Snooze away," said the colonel; but Jim Cheyne was looking around him,and he suddenly exclaimed,--
"I say! What's become of that thar old tiger? He didn't go off withthe Lipan cub."
"No," said Joe. "That he didn't. He was 'round yer chawin' buflermeat not five minutes ago. I heerd him say something 'bout hismule----"
"Mule's gone," came from a ranger who had stepped away to look for him."Tell ye what, boys, that thar old rascal's gone back on us."
"I reckon not," replied Bowie, after a moment of consideration. "Hehasn't gone to Great Bear, but we shan't see him again till we get tothe Hacienda Dolores. Red Wolf's gone scouting."
"That's his best hold," said Joe. "Glad he went; but they'll get himif he doesn't watch out sharp."
That was precisely what he was doing, as he crouched behind theboulder, almost as motionless and silent as the stone itself.
The Lost Gold of the Montezumas: A Story of the Alamo Page 8
