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

by William Osborn Stoddard

  CHAPTER XVII.

  THE FIRST SHOT.

  Four days went by. All the space inside the walls of the fort had aclean and tidy look. The soldiers of the garrison went hither andthither with an air of being under more than usual drill, but theirvaried uniforms were about the same as ever. A light rain was fallingand the skies overhead were heavy with clouds, as if a storm werecoming.

  A shout was heard outside the gate, and then its massive oaken portalswung wide open, while Colonel Travis stood by the six-pounder, hishandsome face bright with expectation.

  "Boys!" he shouted, "the supplies have come!"

  Nearing the gate-way was a train of large wagons, and on either sideand in the rear of them rode mounted riflemen.

  "Reinforcements, too!" exclaimed Crockett, as he strode forward to theside of Travis.

  Colonel Bowie was already out beyond the wall, scrutinizing theapproaching train and its guard.

  "Not a quarter as many men as we needed," he remarked, in a low,foreboding tone. "I hope there are more coming."

  On rolled the wagons, while cheer after cheer went up from thegarrison, to be answered as heartily by the new arrivals.

  "Keep right on," shouted Travis to the drivers. "Halt in front of thechurch."

  The last pair of wheels was in the gate-way when galloping past themcame a half-naked rider.

  "Whoop!" he yelled. "Red Wolf want Big Knife. Castro horse dead.Santa Anna come!"

  "All right!" called out Travis. "Come this way. Bowie, bring him in.Men, go on unloading. Tally all there is."

  Down from his panting pony dropped the young Lipan, and his eagerreport required few questions to make it clear. Either his father hadnot been so well mounted or else he had been too heavy a weight for along race. His horse had given out entirely a few miles from the fort,and Red Wolf had ridden on alone. All the officers of the rangers hadgathered to hear, and when the report was completed they looked at eachother with serious faces.

  "It's just about as we expected, after all," said Travis. "I'm gladthere are no Comanches with them. If Castro is right, there are overfive thousand of them. A thousand more or less won't make muchdifference. They're about four days' march from us, I should say, butthe lancers could get here sooner. Most likely they will."

  A rugged-looking ranger stood before him, touching a ragged hat-brim.

  "Well, Sergeant Daly," said Travis, "how do you find the cargo?"

  "Bully, far as it goes!" responded the sergeant. "I reckon it gives usrations for about two weeks. Pretty good lot of rifle powder. Not somuch cannon powder and grape-shot as we'd ought to have. No solid shotto speak of, but there's some. Forty spare rifles, and I wish we hadmen for 'em. But these yer new men are all prime fellers, and we canfoot up one hundred and forty good shots, all told."

  "We ought to have at least three times as many," said Travis. "Everyman is worth his weight in gold just now."

  "The trouble is," remarked Bowie, "Houston hasn't had time yet to usethose Spanish dollars. He will, though. What we must do is to try andhold the fort till Austin's riflemen get here. Every day 'll count.Santa Anna is a slow marcher."

  "You're mistaken thar," exclaimed Crockett. "If his Greasers couldfight as well as they kin walk, we'd be gone up sure!"

  The next duties related to the unloading of the wagons and to all theinformation that could be obtained from the new men. Even while Traviswas talking with them, however, an hour or so later, a hand touched hisarm, and he turned to look into the face of Castro.

  "What is it, chief?" he asked.

  "Close gate," said Castro. "Load big gun. Lancer! Bring pony in."

  "They mean to make a dash for our corral, do they?" replied Travis, andorders for the care of the horses of the garrison went out at once.

  It would not do to lose them all just now, and they, at least, wouldhave abundant rations within the enclosure. One of the best of themwas turned over to Castro in place of his used-up pony, and another asgood was given to Red Wolf.

  While this was going on, Bowie had been busy with the spare rifles thathad just arrived, and now he made his appearance, carrying two weaponsthat were more ornamental than the rest, for both were silver mounted.

  "Travis," he said, "this is for the chief, and this is the one Ipromised Red Wolf."

  "They've earned 'em," exclaimed Crockett. "Give 'em a first-rateoutfit. Hope they'll kill a grist of Greasers."

  Colonel Travis himself presented the rifles, but his words were few.Castro took his own and examined it all over.

  "Ugh!" he said. "Heap shoot. Travis kill Mexican with big gun. RedWolf take rifle. Come!"

  Red Wolf's eyes had been glittering with delight. Never before had heheard of an Indian boy of his age owning a really first-class riflewith all its accoutrements of wiping-stick, ramrod, powder-horn, andbullet-pouch. Those were the days of flintlocks, and thelong-barrelled shooting-irons did not need any "cap-box" to go withthem.

  He was hardly expected to say much, but he made out to tell thecolonel,--

  "Red Wolf shoot a heap. Mexican lose hair. Wipe out Comanche."

  As he finished speaking, however, Bowie himself laid a hand on hisshoulder.

  "Red Wolf go with his father now," he said. "Come back to Big Knife.Chief, let him come as soon as you can."

  He had understood a sentence that Castro had uttered in his own tonguewith its accompanying "sign."

  "Chief send boy," replied Castro. "Go now. Travis fight a heap."

  The two Lipans were upon the backs of their fresh mustangs the nextminute, and they rode out of the gate as if some errand of importancehurried them.

  "Reckon they think we've got our work cut out for us," said Crockett.

  "They've seen the Mexican army," replied Bowie, "and they know justwhat's coming. So do we, but we mustn't say anything to discourage themen."

  A watcher at a loop-hole saw Castro and Red Wolf wheel around thecorner of the wall and gallop westward, but before he could report thedirection they had taken the garrison was startled by the roar of acannon from one of the southern embrasures. There had been a reasonfor the course taken by the Lipans.

  "Who fired that gun?" shouted Travis, angrily. "Who fired withoutorders?"

  "I did," came promptly back from Sergeant Daly. "I had the best kindof a bead on that crowd of lancers. It was only a four-pound shot, butit ploughed right into 'em."

  "Not another charge is to be wasted," replied Travis. "We need everykernel. We were none too quick about the corral, though."

  "Travis," said Bowie, quietly, "our time's about come. Houston mustsend us more men or we can't so much as man the walls."

  It was a matter of course that a strong body of cavalry had been senton in advance of the invading army. No doubt there had been an idea ofstriking the rebellious Texans at every possible point. The lancers,however, had not met with anything to strike at, and all they now coulddo, apparently, was to reconnoitre the fort. It was in a spirit ofentirely empty bravado that they had approached so near or else theyhad forgotten that the Alamo had any artillery. They had at lasthalted, while their commander deliberately scanned the post and itssurroundings through his field-glass.

  Bang! went the four-pounder, and Daley's aim had been first-rate.

  "_Caramba_!" roared the colonel. "My baggage mule! My equipments!Santa Maria! My cigarettes!"

  Over went a fine mule, certainly, as the four pounds of iron arrived,but not because of anything that prevented him from getting up at onceand braying. Upon his patient back, rising above the panniers thatadorned his flanks, had been a load more large than heavy. It was thishump of varied luxury and usefulness into which the sergeant's wastefulshot had ploughed.

  Mexico had not lost even so much as a mule, but the ground was strewnwith cigarettes and other merchandise, and the lancer force had beenwarned that they were in front of a battery.

  "Fellow-citizens!" shouted the angry officer. "Heroes of Mexico!Yond
er is the Alamo! In a few days we will ride into it and teach theGringo rebels a lesson they will remember. Forward, right wheel!Gallop!"

  Gallop they did, but Travis's order to save ammunition had already putthem entirely out of danger.

  Miles away to the westward rode Castro and his son, but the chief hadnow gone far enough for the purpose which had taken him away from thefort. He drew his rein and Red Wolf imitated him.

  "Ugh!" said Castro, holding out a hand. "Rifle!"

  The splendid present was handed over, but other commands followed, andthe young warrior was stripped of his bow and arrows, his lance and hispistols. His only remaining weapon was the knife in his belt. Therewas not a shadow of disobedience, not even of dissatisfaction, upon hisface, but he was evidently waiting for an explanation.

  "Red Wolf no lose rifle," said Castro, at last. "Great chief take itto lodge. Hide it with tribe."

  "Ugh?" said Red Wolf, but he knew there was something more to come.

  "No bad medicine," said Castro, holding out his hand again.

  The three gold bars allotted to Red Wolf were tightly secured to hissaddle. They were now untied and handed over. The chief dropped fromhis pony and walked to the nearest oak, one of three by which they hadhalted. He took out his knife, dug a pretty deep hole, and dropped theprecious but dangerous prizes into it.

  Red Wolf had followed him in silence, and now, when the earth and sodswere replaced, Castro stood erect and pointed at the spot under whichlay the gold.

  "All Texan lose hair," he said. "Red Wolf hide bad medicine. Findsome day! Die then. Montezuma wicked manitou."

  "Ugh!" exclaimed Red Wolf.

  Nevertheless, a deep "sign" was cut upon the oak-tree before theyremounted. Then the chief went on to explain to his son the furtherduties required of him.

  It did not take a great many words, but the meaning of it all wassimple.

  The Mexicans and the Lipans were now nominally at peace. Any Lipan wasfairly safe among them, unless he should seem to be on a war-pathagainst them. At the same time, Mexican cavalry would surely disarm amere boy,--that is, they would steal his rifle, even if they thenshould let him go unharmed.

  So far, so good, but Castro raised his arm and pointed eastward.

  "Boy hear!" he said. "Travis send Texan to friend? Mexican catchranger. Shoot him. No catch Red Wolf. Go! Ride hard! Tell greatTexan chief Santa Anna here! Say he camp around Alamo. Say Traviswant more Texan. Ugh! Go!"

  It was an errand of importance, therefore. It was worthy of a warrior.It was a message of life and death, but it called for cunning, caution,hard riding, rather than for sharpshooting. A few further instructionsas to where to go and whom to find were all that was needed, and awaywent the ready messenger.

  Castro himself rode away, laden with the precious shooting-irons. Hetoo had need for caution and for cunning if he was ever to rejoin histribe, but Red Wolf, riding northward now, was saying to himself,--

  "Ugh! Heap young brave. Bring Texan to Big Knife. Heap fightMexican."

  He may have been perfectly aware that Colonel Travis was the whitechief who was in actual command of the rangers and the fort. To hismind, however, the Texan armies, if not the republic itself, were bestrepresented by the stalwart hand-to-hand fighter who had given him theknife which he now so carefully concealed under his buckskins. Havingdone so, he transferred his old, half-despised butcher-knife from hisleggings to his belt, and remarked concerning it, "Mexican take? Ugh!No lose heap knife. Take Mexican hair."

  There was a menacing look in his face, and he rode on with the air ofan adventurer who was quite ready for mischief, if a chance for anyshould be given him.

  The region of country he was to go through was supposed to bepeaceable, as yet. It contained only scattered ranches and smallsettlements, but it might speedily contain almost anything else, forperils of all sorts were pouring in upon the Texas border.

  Matters at the fort were quiet, but the rangers in their quarters, evenwhile running bullets, and the officers in their hammocks, not one ofthem asleep, seemed to have constituted themselves a kind of generalcouncil of war. At least they were discussing every feature of thesituation, and were talking themselves more and more into a state ofmind that bordered closely upon contempt for Santa Anna and his fivethousand men.

  The most undemonstrative man among them all was Colonel Bowie. He hadslung his hammock near one of the embrasures, with a cannon at hisside, and, like the cannon, he was continually peering out. Even afterit grew darker and only moonlight remained to show him anything, heevery now and then seemed to take an inquiring look at the surroundingcountry.

  "I can see that cave," he muttered to himself, "as clear as if I werein it. What if the fate of a young nation should depend upon ourgetting into that hole again? If those old rascals knew we werecoming, they'd pitch it all down the chasm. I'd like to know, just forcuriosity, what fellows and how many of them have been butchered beforethat altar. In the old times they used up whole tribes and regimentsof captives that way. Then I'd like to know where all that bullioncame from. I don't believe they mined for it. They didn't know how.They got it out of river-beds, I reckon, just as they do in Asia andAfrica."

  He had hit the mark, for there was no other way imaginable. But wherewere the riverbeds, and how much more gold-dust and nuggets might therebe remaining in them?

  He could dream and speculate there in his hammock, but that was all hecould do. His young republic was indeed to come and go. Mexico was tolose Texas and her other northern provinces. The pioneers among whomhe was so daring a leader were to accomplish even more than they wereplanning. Beyond all his dreams, however, would be the solution of hisgold problem. Only a few years later the slopes and gulches of theCalifornia mountains were to swarm with hardy miners, and the treasuresof the Montezumas were to sink into insignificance in comparison withthe wealth to be taken out, not by the Aztecs or the Spaniards, but bythe "Gringos."

  Would anybody then be found to take note of the fact that Bowie and hiscomrades were the advance-guard, the skirmish-line, almost the "forlornhope" of the armies of Taylor and Scott? The United States, the worldat large, and even Mexico, owe their memories something of recognition,and they were not even much "ahead of their time."

  "Crockett," said Travis, just before they went to sleep, "Bowie can'tget that cave out of his head."

  "It's t'other way," replied Crockett. "He can't get his head out ofthe cave, and I'll be glad, you bet, when we all get our heads out ofthe cave this push of Santa Anna is putting us into."