Produced by Al Haines.
Cover]
"The man spoke in a sharp whisper: 'You are JohnBedford?'" Page 303]
_The_ QUEST OF THE FOUR
_A STORY OF THE COMANCHES AND BUENA VISTA_
BY
JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
AUTHOR OF "THE LAST OF THE CHIEFS," "THE YOUNG TRAILERS," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK AND LONDON: MCMXX
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.--The Meeting of the FourII.--The March of the TrainIII.--At the FordIV.--On WatchV.--The Comanche VillageVI.--The Medicine LodgeVII.--The Great SleepVIII.--New EnemiesIX.--The Fiery CircleX.--Phil's LetterXI.--With the ArmyXII.--The Pass of AngosturaXIII.--A Wind of the DesertXIV.--Buena VistaXV.--The Woman at the WellXVI.--The Castle of MontevideoXVII.--The Thread, the Key, and the DaggerXVIII.--The Hut in the CoveXIX.--Arenberg's QuestXX.--The Silver CupXXI.--The Note of a MelodyXXII.--Breakstone's Quest
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"The man spoke in a sharp whisper: 'You are John Bedford?'" . . ._Frontispiece_
"Putting his blanket beneath him, he lay before one of the fires"
"A black, snakelike loop fell over Bill Breakstone's head"
"The third boy from the rear stopped and listened"
THE QUEST OF THE FOUR
CHAPTER I
THE MEETING OF THE FOUR
A tall boy, dreaming dreams, was walking across the Place d'Armes in NewOrleans. It was a brilliant day in early spring, and a dazzlingsunlight fell over the city, gilding the wood or stone of the houses,and turning the muddy current of the Mississippi into shimmering gold.Under such a perfect blue sky, and bathed in such showers of shiningbeams, New Orleans, a city of great and varied life, looked quaint,picturesque, and beautiful.
But the boy, at that moment, thought little of the houses or peopleabout him. His mind roamed into the vast Southwest, over mountains,plains, and deserts that his feet had never trod, and he sought, almostwith the power of evocation, to produce regions that he had never seen,but which he had often heard described. He had forgotten no detail ofthe stories, but, despite them, the cloud of mystery and romanceremained, calling to him all the more strongly because he had come upona quest the most vital of his life, a quest that must lead him into thegreat unknown land.
He was not a native of New Orleans or Louisiana. Any one could have toldat a glance that the blue eyes, fair hair, and extreme whiteness of skindid not belong to the Gulf coast. His build was that of theAnglo-Saxon. The height, the breadth of shoulder and chest, and thewhole figure, muscled very powerfully for one so young, indicated birthin a clime farther North--Kentucky or Virginia, perhaps. His dress,neat and clean, showed that he was one who respected himself.
Phil Bedford passed out of the Place d'Armes, and presently came to thelevee which ran far along the great river, and which was seething withlife. New Orleans was then approaching the zenith of its glory. Many,not foreseeing the power of the railroad, thought that the city, seatednear the mouth of the longest river of the world, into which scores ofother navigable streams drained, was destined to become the first cityof America. The whole valley of the Mississippi, unequalled in extentand richness, must find its market here, and beyond lay the vast domain,once Spain's, for which New Orleans would be the port of entry.
Romance, too, had seized the place. The Alamo and San Jacinto lay but afew years behind. All the states resounded with the great story of theTexan struggle for liberty. Everybody talked of Houston and Crockettand Bowie and the others, and from this city most of the expeditions hadgone. New Orleans was the chief fountain from which flowed freshstreams of men who steadily pushed the great Southwestern frontierfarther and farther into the Spanish lands.
It seemed to Phil, looking through his own fresh, young eyes, that itwas a happy crowd along the levee. The basis of the city was France andSpain, with an American superstructure, but all the materials had beenbound into a solid fabric by their great and united defense against theBritish in 1815. Now other people came, too, called by the spirit oftrade or adventure. Every nation of Europe was there, and the states,also, sent their share. They came fast on the steamers which trailedtheir black smoke down the yellow river.
The strong youth had been sad, when he came that morning from the dingylittle room in which he slept, and he had been sad when he was walkingacross the Place d'Armes, but the scene was too bright and animated toleave one so young in such a state of mind. He bought a cup of hotcoffee from one of the colored women who was selling it from immensecans, drank it, exchanged a cheerful word or two of badinage, and, as heturned away, he ran into a round man, short, rosy, and portly. Philsprang back, exclaiming:
"Your pardon, sir! It was an accident! All my fault!"
"No harm done where none iss meant," replied the stranger, speakingexcellent English, although with a German accent. It was obvious, evenwithout the accent, that he was of German birth. The Fatherland waswritten all over his rotund figure, but he was dressed in the fashion ofthe Southwest--light suit, light shoes, and a straw hat.
It was a time when chance meetings led to long friendships. On theborder, a stranger spoke to another stranger if he felt like it. Onecould ask questions if he chose. Partnerships were formed on the spurof the moment in the vast army that was made up of the children ofadventure, formality was a commodity little in demand. The Germanlooked rather inquiringly at the boy.
"From farther North, iss it not so?" he asked. "Answer or be silent.Either iss your right."
Bill laughed. He liked the man's quaint manner and friendly tone, andhe replied promptly:
"I was born in Kentucky, my name is Philip Bedford, and I am alone inNew Orleans."
"Then," said the German, "you must be here for some expedition. Thisiss where they start. It iss so. I can see it in your face. Come, myyoung friend, no harm iss done where none iss meant."
Phil had taken no offense. He had merely started a little at the shrewdguess. He replied frankly:
"I'm thinking of the West, Texas and maybe New Mexico, or even beyondthat--California."
"It iss a long journey to take alone," said the German, "two thousand,three thousand miles, and not one mile of safe road. Indians, Mexicans,buffaloes, bears, deserts, mountains, all things to keep you fromgetting across."
"But I mean to go," paid Phil firmly.
The German looked at him searchingly. His interest in Phil seemed toincrease.
"Something calls you," he said.
Phil was silent.
"No harm iss done where none iss meant," the German. "You have told mewho you are, Mr. Philip Bedford, and where you come from. It iss rightthat I tell you as much about myself. My name iss Hans Arenberg, and Iam a Texan."
Phil looked at him, his eyes full of unbelief, and the German laughed alittle.
"It iss so," he said. "You do not think I look like a Texan, but I amone by way of Germany. I--I live at New Braunfels."
Arenberg's voice broke suddenly, and
then Phil remembered vaguely--NewBraunfels, a settlement of German immigrants in Texas, raided byComanches, the men killed, and the women carried off! It was one ofthose terrible incidents of the border, so numerous that the new fastcrowded the old out of place.
"You come from New Braunfels! You are one of the survivors of themassacre!" he exclaimed.
"It iss so," said the German, his eyes growing sober, "and I, too, wishto go far into the West. I, too, seek something, young Mr. PhilipBedford, and my road would lie much where yours leads."
The two looked at each other with inquiry that shaded intounderstanding. Arenberg was the first to speak.
"Yes, we could go together," he said. "I trust you, and you trust me.But two are not strong enough. The chances are a thousand to one thatneither of us would find what he iss seeking. The Mexicans wish revengeon the Texans, the Comanches raid to the outskirts of San Antonio.Pouf! Our lives would not be worth that! It must be a strong party ofmany men!"
"I believe you are right," said Phil, "but I wish to go. I wish to govery much."
"So do I," said Arenberg. "It iss the same with both of us, but supposewe wait. Where do you live?"
Phil no longer hesitated to confide in this chance acquaintance, and hereplied that he was staying in a house near the Convent of the UrsulineNuns, where a little room sheltered him and his few belongings.
"Suppose," said Arenberg, "that I join you there, and we save ourexpenses. In union there iss strength. If you do not like my suggestionsay so. No harm iss done where none iss meant."
"On the contrary, I do like it," said Phil heartily. "It seems to methat we can help each other."
"Then come," said Arenberg. "We will go first to my place, where I willpay my own bill, take away what I have, and then we will join forces atyours, iss it not so?"
Arenberg was staying at one of the inns that abounded in New Orleans,and it took him only a half hour to pack and move, carrying his baggagein his hand. Phil's room was in a large, rambling old house, built ofcypress wood, with verandas all about it. There an American widow keptboarders, and she had plenty of them, as New Orleans was overflowingwith strangers. The room was small and bare, but it was large enough,as Phil's baggage, too, was limited. A cot was put in for Arenberg, andthe two were at home.
The day was now drawing to a close, and the two ate supper with astrange company in the large dining-room of the boarding house. Phil, aclose observer, noted that six languages were spoken around that more orless hospitable board. He understood only his own, and a little Frenchand Spanish, but the difference in sound and intonation enabled him tonote the others. One of the men who sat opposite him was a big fellowwith glistening gold rings in his ears, evidently a West Indian ofsomewhat doubtful color, but he was quiet, and ate dextrously andskillfully with his knife. A sallow young Mexican with curling blackmustaches complained incessantly about his food, and a thin NewEnglander spoke at times of the great opportunities for capital in theSouthwest.
Phil and Arenberg, who sat side by side, said little, but both watchedall the other guests with interested eyes. The one who held Phil's gazethe longest was a smoothly shaven young man on the other side of thetable. It was the difference between him and the others that arousedPhil's curiosity. He sat very erect, with his square shoulders thrownback, and he never spoke, except to accept or reject the food passed bycolored girls. His eyes were blue, and his face, cut clear and strong,betokened perception and resolve. Phil believed that he could like him,but his attention by and by wandered elsewhere.
Philip Bedford had not felt so nearly content for many days. The makingof a new friend was a source of strength to the boy, and he felt that hehad taken a step forward in his great search. Fresh confidence flowedlike good wine into his veins. He had friendly feelings toward allthose around the table, and the room itself became picturesque. He ateof strange dishes, French or Spanish, and liked them, careless what theywere. A mild breeze came through the open windows, and the outlines ofbuildings were softened in the dusk. Within the room itself six candlesin tall candlesticks, placed at regular intervals on the table, cast asufficient light. Two young colored women in red calico dresses, andwith red turbans on their heads, kept off the flies and mosquitoes withgorgeous fans of peacock feathers, which they waved gently over theheads of the guests. Phil became deeply conscious of the South, of itsglow and its romance.
The guests, having a sufficiency of food, left the table one by one.The young man with the smooth face was among the first to go. Philnoticed him again and admired his figure--tall, slender, and beautifullyerect. He walked with ease and grace, and his dress of plain brown wasuncommonly neat and well fitting. "I should like to know that man," wasPhil's thought.
After dinner the boy and Arenberg sat on the veranda in the dusk, andtalked in low voices of their plans. They deemed it better to keep theirintentions to themselves. Many expeditions were fitting out in NewOrleans. Some were within the law, and some were not. Wise men talkedlittle of what was nearest to their hearts.
"If we go into the West--and we are going," said Phil, "we shall needweapons--rifles, pistols."
"Time enough for that," said Arenberg. "If we have the money, we canarm ourselves in a day. Weapons are a chief article of commerce in NewOrleans."
An hour later they went up to their room and to bed. Phil carried hismoney on his person, and most of his other belongings were in a stoutleather bag or valise, which was fastened with a brass lock. It wasnecessary for him to open the bag to obtain some clean linen, and asArenberg's back was turned he took out, also, a small paper, yellow andworn. He opened it for the thousandth time, choked a sigh, and put itback. As he relocked the bag and turned, he noticed that Arenberg alsohad been looking at something. It seemed to be a photograph, and theGerman, after returning it to his own bag, gazed absently out of thewindow. His face, which at other times was obviously made for smilesand cheeriness, was heavy with grief. A flood of sympathy rushed overPhilip Bedford. "I wonder what it is he seeks out there," the boythought as he looked unconsciously toward the West. But he had too muchdelicacy of mind to say anything, and presently Arenberg was himselfagain, speaking hopefully of their plans as they prepared for bed.
Phil slept soundly, except for one interval. Then he dreamed a dream,and it was uncommonly vivid. He saw Hans Arenberg rise from his cot,take from his bag the small object which was undoubtedly a photograph,go to the window, where the moonlight fell, and look at it long andearnestly. Presently his chest heaved, and tears ran down either cheek.Then his head fell forward, and he dropped the photograph to his breast.He stood in that stricken attitude for at least five minutes, then heput the photograph back in the bag, and returned to his cot. In themorning Phil's recollection of the dream was very vivid, but Arenbergwas cheery and bright.
The boy and the man ate breakfast together in the dining-room, abreakfast of oranges--Phil had never seen an orange until he came to NewOrleans--cakes and butter and coffee. Only a few of the diners of theevening before were present when they went into the room, but among themwas the young man with the shaven face and the firm chin. Phil likedhim even better in the morning light. His seemed the kindly face of aman with a strong and decided character. Their eyes met, and thestranger smiled and nodded. Phil smiled and nodded back. Afterbreakfast Phil and Arenberg went out upon the veranda. The man wasalready there, smoking a cigarette.
"Fine morning," he observed easily. "One could not ask anything betterthan these early spring days in New Orleans. In the North we are stillin the grasp of snow and ice."
Phil and Arenberg also sat down, as the way was now opened forconversation.
"Then you are from the North, I suppose," said Phil.
"Yes," replied the stranger, "from the State of New York, but I amtraveling now, as you see. My name is Middleton, George Middleton."
He paused, meditatively blew a whiff of smoke from the little Spanishcigarrito, and added:
"I'm not for lon
g in New Orleans. I'm thinking of a journey in theWest."
"Nobody goes there unless he has a very good reason for going. Iss itnot so? No harm iss done where none iss meant," said Arenberg, in atone half of apology and half of inquiry.
Middleton laughed and took another puff at his cigarrito.
"Certainly no harm has been done," he replied. "You are right, also, insaying that no one goes into the West unless he has an excellent reason.I have such a reason. I want to look for something there."
Phil and the German exchanged glances. They, too, wished to look forsomething there. So! Here was a third man seeking to embark upon thegreat journey. But it was no business of theirs what he sought, howevercurious they might feel about it. Phil took another look at Middleton.Surely his was a good face, a face to inspire trust and courage.
"We wish to go across Texas and New Mexico, also," he said, "but we'vebeen delaying until we could form a party."
"You've two at least," said Middleton, "and you now have the chance tomake it three. Why not do so?"
"We will," said Arenberg. "It iss a case where three are company, andtwo are not so much. Our firm is now Middleton, Bedford, Arenberg &Co."
"Do not put me first," said Middleton. "We must all be on exactly thesame plane. But I hope, friends, that you trust me as much as I trustyou. I think I know truth and honesty when I see them."
"We do!" said Phil and Arenberg together and emphatically.
The three shook hands, and that single act bound them into a solemncompact to stand by one another through all things. They did not wastewords. Then the three went into the town, walking about among the innsand on the levee to hear the gossip of New Orleans, and to learn whatchance there was of a large party going into the West. On the wayMiddleton told them of some things that he had learned. He was notsure, but a large wagon train might start soon for Santa Fe, in the farMexican land of New Mexico. It was to be a trading expedition, carryingmuch cloth, metal goods, and other articles of value to this, thegreatest of Mexico's outlying posts.
"It will be a numerous train," said Middleton, "perhaps too numerous, asit may arouse the suspicion of the Mexicans. The relations of theStates and Mexico are none too good. There is trouble over Texas, andwho can tell what will happen a thousand miles in the depths of thewilderness?"
"Nobody," said Arenberg. "Who should know better than I?"
He spoke with such sudden emphasis that Middleton opened his mouth as ifhe would ask a question, but changed his mind and was silent.
"Then it is your opinion, Mr. Middleton," said Phil, "that we shouldjoin this train?"
"If nothing better offers. All such expeditions are loosely organized.If we should wish to leave it we can do so."
"It iss well to keep it in mind," said Arenberg. "No harm can be donewhere none iss meant."
They entered a large inn kept by a Frenchman. Many men were sittingabout drinking or smoking. Middleton ordered lemonade for the three,and they sat at a small table in the corner, observing the life of theplace. Phil's attention was presently attracted to another small tablenear them, at which a single man sat. His gaze would not have lingeredthere, had it not been for this man's peculiar appearance. His agemight have been thirty-five, more or less, and his figure was powerful.His face was burned almost black by a sun that could not have beenanything but ardent, but his features and his blue eyes showed him to beAmerican of a fair race. His clothes were poor, and he lookeddepressed. Yet the stranger was not without a certain distinction, anair as of one who did not belong there in an inn. Something in the blueeyes told of wild freedom and great spaces. He interested Phil more thananybody else in the room. He felt that here was another man whom hecould like.
The talk about them drifted quite naturally upon the subject of theWest, what Texas was going to do, what Mexico was going to do, the greattrail toward the Pacific, and the prospect of trouble between the UnitedStates and Mexico. The shabby man raised his head and showed interest.His eyes began to glow. He was not more than three feet away, and Phil,prompted by a sort of instinct, spoke to him.
"It seems that all eyes turn toward the West now," he said.
"Yes," replied the stranger, "and they're right. It's out there thatthe great things lie."
He moved his hand with a slight but significant gesture toward thesetting sun.
"I've been there once," he said, "and I want to go back."
"A man takes his life in his hands when he travels that way," said Phil.
"I know," replied the stranger, "but I'm willing to risk it. I must goback there. I want to look for something, something very particular."
Phil started. Here was a fourth who sought some darling wish of hisheart in that far mysterious West. He felt a strange influence. Itseemed to him a sign, or rather a command that must be obeyed. Heglanced at Middleton and Arenberg, who had been listening, and,understanding him perfectly, they nodded.
"We three are going into the West, also, on errands of our own," saidPhil. "Why not join us? Three are good, but four are better."
"It iss a fair proposition," added Arenberg. "No harm iss done wherenone iss meant."
"We make the offer," said Middleton, "because on such a journey oneneeds friends. If you do not think you can trust us, as ouracquaintance is so short, say so."
The man examined them keenly, one by one. Phil, looking with equalkeenness at him, saw that, despite shabbiness of dress and despondencyof manner, he was not a common man. In truth, as he looked, thedepression seemed to be passing away. The stranger raised his head,threw back his shoulders, and the blue eyes began to glow.
"You look all right to me," he said. "A man has got to make friends,and if you trust me I don't see why I can't trust you. Besides, I'mterribly anxious to go back out there, and my reason is mighty good."
"Then shall we consider it a bargain?" said Middleton.
"You may count me one of the band as long as you will have me," said thestranger with hearty emphasis, "and I suppose I oughtn't to come in asan unknown. My name is Breakstone, William Breakstone, though I amalways called Bill Breakstone by those who know me. Bill Breakstoneseems to run off smoother."
He smiled in the most ingratiating manner. The sudden acquisition offriends seemed to have clothed him about with sunlight. All the othersfelt that they had made no mistake.
"I'm a rover," said Bill Breakstone in round, cheerful tones. "I'vebeen roaming all my life, though I'm bound to say it hasn't been to muchpurpose. As you see me now, I haven't got nearly enough to buy either arifle or a horse for this big trip on which you're asking me to go, andon which I'm wanting to go terrible bad."
"Never mind, Mr. Breakstone--" began Middleton, but he was interrupted.
"I'm Breakstone or Bill to those that feed with me," said the new man,"and I'm Mr. Breakstone to those that don't like me or suspect me."
"All right," said Middleton with a laugh, "it's Breakstone for thepresent. By and by we may call you Bill. I was going to tell you,Breakstone, that we four go in together. We furnish you what you need,and later on you pay us back if you can. It's the usual thing in theWest."
"You're right, my lord," said Bill Breakstone, "and I accept. It givesme pleasure to be enrolled in your most gallant company, and, by mytroth, I will serve you right well."
Middleton looked at him in amazement, and Bill Breakstone broke into amellow, infectious laugh.
"I don't talk that way all the time," he said. "It merely bursts out inspots. You may not believe it, when you look at me, but I studied forthe stage once, and I've been an actor. Now and then the old scrapscome to the end of my tongue. All's well that end's well, and may thatbe the fate of our expedition."
"Come," said Middleton, after telling his own name and that of hisfriends to Breakstone, "we'll go to our quarters and make a place foryou. Phil and Arenberg are in a room together, and you shall sharemine."
"Lead on!" said Bill Breakstone.
The four le
ft the inn. Bill Breakstone was as poor as he describedhimself to be. He owned only the worn suit of clothes in which hestood, a pistol, and a pair of saddle bags, seeming to contain somelinen, of which he took good care.
"Prithee, young sir," he said to Phil, "I would fain guard well thelittle that I have, because if I lose the little that I have, then whatI have shall be nothing. Do I argue well, Sir Ivanhoe?"
"It's conclusive," said Phil. He took greatly to this man who hadbecome in an hour the life of their little band, a constant source ofcheerful patter that invigorated them all. Middleton bought him a newsuit of clothes, gave him some money, which he promised earnestly toreturn a hundredfold, and then they went forth to inquire further intothe matter of the trading expedition for Santa Fe. But their attentionwas diverted by the arrival of a large steamboat that had come all theway from Pittsburgh loaded with passengers. A particular group amongthe arrivals soon became the center of their interest.
The members of the group were Mexicans, and they were evidently peopleof distinction, or, at least, position. The first among them wasmiddle-aged, fat, and yellow, and dressed in garments much brighter incolor than Americans wear. Indeed, as a wind somewhat chill swept overthe river, he threw around his shoulders a red serape with a magnificentborder of gold fringe. But a young man who walked by his side made noacknowledgment to the wind. It was he whom Phil watched most. Somepeople inspire us at once with hostility, and Phil had this feelingabout the stranger, who bore himself in a manner that had more than atinge of sneering arrogance.
The young man was obviously of the Spanish race, although his bloodmight run back to Northern Spain, as he was tall and very stronglybuilt, and his complexion inclined to fairness, but Phil believed him tobe of Mexican birth, as he showed the shade of change that the New Worldalways made in the old. He wore the uniform of a captain in the Mexicanarmy. Mexican uniforms were not popular in the States, but he borehimself as if he preferred the hostility of the crowd to its friendship.His insolent gaze met Phil's for an instant, and the boy gave it backwith interest. For a few moments these two who had never met before,who did not know the names of each other, and who might never meetagain, stared with immediate hostility. Eye plumbed the depths of eye,but it was the Mexican who looked away first, although he let his lipscurl slightly into a gesture with which he meant to convey contempt.
Middleton had observed this silent drama of a few moments, and he saidquietly:
"You do not know, Philip, who these men are?"
"No," replied the boy, "but I should like to know."
"The stout, elderly man is Don August Xavier Hernando Zucorra y Palite,who is at the head of a special Mexican embassy that has been atWashington to treat with our government about the boundary of Texas--youknow there has been trouble between the States and Mexico over the Texanboundary--and the younger is Pedro de Armijo, his nephew, and thenephew, also, of Armijo, the governor of New Mexico, where we areplanning to go."
"I fancied from his manner," said Bill Breakstone, "that young Armijowas the President of Old Mexico and New Mexico both. I have called youSir Knight, and My Lord Phil, but our young Mexican is both His Graceand His Royal Highness. By my halidome, we are indeed proud and farabove that vile herd, the populace."
"Well, he will not bother us," said Arenberg. "If you run after troubleyou will find it coming to meet you."
Middleton watched the Mexicans with uncommon interest until they passedout of sight. Arenberg, a shrewd and penetrating man himself, said:
"You are interested in them, Mr. Middleton?"
"I am," replied Middleton frankly, "and I know, too, that the errand ofZucorra to Washington has been a failure. The relations of the UnitedStates and Mexico are no better."
"But that won't keep us from going across to the Pacific, will it, Cap?"said Bill Breakstone briskly. "You don't mind if I call you Cap, do you,Mr. Middleton? You are, in a way, our leader, because you are most fit,and the title seems to suit you."
"Call me Cap if you wish," replied Middleton, "but we are all on equalterms. Now, as we have seen the Mexicans, and, as there is nothing morehere to attract us, we might go on up the levee."
"Prithee, we will suit the deed to the word," said Bill Breakstone, "butdo not run into that drunken Indian there, Phil. I would not have thygarments soiled by contact with this degraded specimen of a race onceproud and noble."
Phil turned a little to one side to avoid the Indian of whom Breakstonespoke. The levee was littered with freight, and the red man huddledagainst a hogshead of tobacco from far Kentucky. His dress was partlysavage and partly civilized, and he was sodden with dirt and drink.But, as Breakstone spoke, he raised his head and flashed him a look fromfiery, glowing eyes. Then his head sank back, but the single glancemade Breakstone shiver.
"I felt as if I had received a bullet," he said. "Now what did thenoble savage mean by giving me such a look? He must have understood whatI said. Ah, well, it mattereth not. He looked like a Comanche. It hasbeen wisely said, let the cobbler stick to his last, and there is nolast in New Orleans for Mr. Cobbler Comanche."
"You didn't suppose he understood you," said Arenberg, "and no harm issdone where none iss meant."
Phil looked back at the Comanche, but there was nothing heroic abouthim. He was huddled lower than ever against the tobacco hogshead.Certainly there was no suggestion of the dauntless warrior, of the wildhorseman. Phil felt a curious little thrill of disappointment.
He looked in the same place the next day for the Comanche, but he didnot see him, and then, in the excitement of great preparations, heforgot the Indian. The New Mexico expedition was about to become a fact,and the little band of four were promptly received as members. On allsuch perilous trips strong and well-armed men were welcome.
The outfit would embrace about sixty wagons and two hundred men, and thegoods they carried would be of great value. Phil and his comrades paidfor the right to put their extra supplies in one of the wagons, and thenthey equipped themselves with great care. They bought four good horses,four fine rifles, made by the famous Dickson, of Louisville, fourdouble-barreled pistols of long range, knives and hatchets, a largequantity of ammunition, an extra suit apiece of stout deerskin, foursmall pocket compasses, and many other things which seem trifles in atown, but which are important in the wilderness.
It took them but a few days to make their purchases, but it was at leastthree weeks before the train started. The Mexicans, meanwhile, hadstayed about a week at the chief hotel, and then had left on a steamerfor their own country. Phil heard that there had been much talk aboutthe high-handed manner of young Armijo, and that he had been extremelydisagreeable to all about him. The older man, Zucorra, who was milderand more diplomatic, had sought to restrain him, but with no success.It was a relief when they were gone.
The boy, still curious about the Comanche, looked for him once more onthe levee. More hogsheads of tobacco and sugar were there, but theIndian was not leaning against any of them. At last he found him in oneof the inns or taverns frequented by sailors and roustabouts, a roughplace at any time, and crowded then with men from the ships and boats.The Indian was sitting in a corner, huddled down in a chair, in much thesame attitude of sloth and indifference that he had shown when leaningagainst the hogshead. Phil saw that when he stood up he would be a tallman, and his figure, if it were not flabby, would be powerful.
Phil was intensely interested. The Indian had always appealed to hisromantic imagination, and, now that he saw one of the race close athand, he wished to learn more. He sat down near the man, and, notknowing what else to say, remarked that it was a fine day. The Comancheraised his head a little, and bent upon Phil a look like that he hadgiven to Breakstone. It was a piercing glance, full of anger andhatred. Then the glowing eyes were veiled, and his head dropped back onhis arms. He did not utter a word in reply.
The innkeeper, who had noticed the brief incident, laughed.
"Don't you try to get up a conversation with
Black Panther, my boy," hesaid. "He ain't what you would call a pow'ful talker."
"No, I suppose he wouldn't talk anybody to death," said Phil. "What ishe?"
"He's a tame Comanche, an' he's been loafing around New Orleans for twoor three months--learnin' the white man's vices, 'specially the drinkin'of fire water, which he keeps first on the list. You can see what it'sdone for him--taken all the pith right out of him, same as you wouldtake it out of a length of elder to make a pop gun. I reckon New Orleansain't no place for an Indian. Hello, what's the matter with BlackPanther?"
The Indian uttered a short, savage exclamation that startled every onein the place, and sprang to his feet. His long coal black hair wasthrown back from his face, and he seemed to be alive in every fiber.The eyes were like two points of fire.
"Black Panther was a great warrior and a chief," he said. "He has beena dog in the white man's town, and he has burned his brain with firewater until it is like that of a little child. But he will be a greatwarrior and a chief again. Now, I go."
He gathered a tattered old blanket around his shoulders, and, holdinghimself erect, stalked in savage dignity out of the place.
"Now, what in thunder did he mean?" exclaimed the astonished innkeeper.
"I think he meant just what he said," replied Phil. "He is going awayfrom New Orleans. He certainly looked it."
So far as he knew, the assertion was true, because, as long as heremained in the city, he neither saw nor heard anything further of theComanche. But the time for his own departure was soon at hand, and inthe excitement of it he forgot all about the Comanche.
The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista Page 1
