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

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  CHAPTER III

  AT THE FORD

  As Phil had foreseen, his latest story of warning found universalcredence in the camp, as the arrow was here, visible to all, and it waspassed from hand to hand. He was compelled to tell many times how ithad whizzed by his face, and how he had found it afterward sticking inthe earth. All the fighting qualities of the train rose. Many hopedthat the Comanches would make good the threat, because threat it mustbe, and attack. The Indians would get all they wanted and plenty more.

  "The Comanche arrow has been shot, For us it has no terror; He can attack our train or not, If he does, it's his error,"

  chanted Bill Breakstone in a mellow voice, and a dozen men took up therefrain: "He can attack our train or not, if he does, it's his error."

  The drivers cracked their whips, the wagons, in a double line, movedslowly on over the gray-green plains. A strong band of scouts precededit, and another, equally as strong, formed the rear-guard. Horsemenarmed with rifle and pistol rode on either flank. The sun shone, and acrisp wind blew. Mellow snatches of song floated away over the swells.All was courage and confidence. Deeper and deeper they went into thegreat plains, and the line of hills and forest behind them became dimmerand dimmer. They saw both buffalo and antelope grazing, a mile or twoaway, and there was much grumbling because Woodfall would not let any ofthe marksmen go in pursuit. Here was game and fresh meat to be had forthe taking, they said, but Woodfall, at the urgent insistence ofMiddleton, was inflexible. Men who wandered from the main body even ashort distance might never come back again. It had happened too oftenon former expeditions.

  "Our leader's right. A luckless wight Trusting his might Might find a fight, And then good night,"

  chanted Bill Breakstone, and he added triumphantly:

  "That's surely good poetry, Phil! Five lines all rhyming together, whenmost poets have trouble to make two rhyme. But, as I have said before,these plains that look so quiet and lonely have their dangers. We mustpass by the buffalo, the deer, and the antelope, unless we go after themin strong parties. Ah, look there! What is that?"

  The head of the train was just topping a swell, and beyond the dip thatfollowed was another swell, rather higher than usual, and upon theutmost crest of the second swell sat an Indian on his horse, Indian andhorse alike motionless, but facing the train with a fixed gaze. TheIndian was large, with powerful shoulders and chest, and with an erecthead and an eagle beak. He was of a bright copper color. His lips werethin, his eyes black, and he had no beard. His long back hair fell downon his back and was ornamented with silver coins and beads. He woredeerskin leggins and moccasins, sewed with beads, and a blue clotharound his loins. The rest of his body was naked and the great musclescould be seen.

  The warrior carried in his right hand a bow about one half the length ofthe old English long bow, made of the tough bois d'arc or osage orange,strengthened and reinforced with sinews of deer wrapped firmly about it.The cord of the bow was also of deer sinews. Over his shoulder was aquiver filled with arrows about twenty inches in length, feathered andwith barbs of triangular iron. On his left arm he carried a circularshield made of two thicknesses of hard, undressed buffalo hide,separated by an inch of space tightly packed with hair. His shield wasfastened by two bands in such a manner that it would not interfere withthe use of the arm, and it was so hard that it would often turn a rifleshot. Hanging at his horse's mane was a war club which had been made bybending a withe around a hard stone, weighing about two pounds, and witha groove in it. Its handle of wood, about fourteen inches in length,was bound with buffalo hide.

  Apparently the warrior carried no firearms, using only the ancientweapons of his tribe. His horse was a magnificent coal black, farlarger than the ordinary Indian pony, and he stood with his neck archedas if he were proud of his owner. The Indian's gaze and manner werehaughty and defiant. It was obvious to every one, and a low murmur ranamong the men of the train. Phil recognized the warrior instantly. Itwas Black Panther, no longer the sodden haunter of the levee in thewhite man's town, but a great chief on his native plains. Phil lookedat Middleton, who nodded.

  "Yes," he said, "I know him. He has, of course, been watching us, andknows every mile of our march. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Phil, thisis the third warning."

  Woodfall had ridden up by the side of Middleton, and the latter saidthat Black Panther would probably speak with them.

  "Then," said Woodfall, "you and I, Mr. Middleton, will ride forward andsee what he has to say."

  Phil begged to be allowed to go, too, and they consented. Woodfallhoisted a piece of white cloth on the end of his rifle, and the Indianraised his shield in a gesture of understanding. Then the three rodeforward. The whole of the wagon train was massed on the swell behindthem, and scores of eyes were watching intently for every detail thatmight happen.

  The Indian, after the affirmative gesture with the shield, did not move,but he sat erect and motionless like a great bronze equestrian statue.The blazing sunlight beat down upon horse and man. Every line of thewarrior's face was revealed--the high cheek-bone, the massive jaw, thepointed chin, and, as Phil drew nearer, the expression of hate anddefiance that was the dominant note of his countenance. Truly, thisBlack Panther of the slums had undergone a prairie change, a wonderfulchange that was complete.

  Woodfall, Middleton, and Phil rode slowly up the second swell, andapproached the chief, for such they could not doubt now that he was.Still he did not move, but sat upon his horse, gravely regarding them.Phil was quite sure that Black Panther remembered him, but he was notsure that he would admit it.

  "You wish to speak with us," said Middleton, who in such a momentnaturally assumed the position of leader.

  "To give you a message," replied Black Panther in good English. "I havegiven you two messages already, and this is the third."

  "The arrows," said Middleton.

  "Yes, the Comanche arrows," continued the chief. "I thought that thewhite men would read the signs, and perhaps they did."

  "What do you wish of us?" said Middleton. "What is this message whichyou say you now deliver for the third time?"

  The chief drew himself up with a magnificent gesture, and, turning alittle, moved his shield arm with a wide sweeping gesture toward theWest.

  "I say, and I say it in behalf of the great Comanche nation, 'Go back.'The country upon which you come belongs to the Comanches. It is ours,and the buffalo and the deer and the antelope are ours. I say to youturn back with your wagons and your men."

  The words were arrogant and menacing to the last degree. A spark leapedup in Middleton's eye, but he restrained himself.

  "We are but peaceful traders going to Santa Fe," he said.

  "Peaceful traders to-day, seizers of the land to-morrow," said theComanche chief. "Go back. The way over the Comanche country isclosed."

  "The plains are vast," said Middleton mildly. "One can ride hundreds ofmiles, and yet not come to the end. Many parts of them have never feltthe hoof of a Comanche pony. The plains do not belong to the Comanchesor to anybody else."

  "They are ours," repeated the chief. "We tell you to go back. Thethird warning is the last."

  "If we still come on, what would you do?" said Middleton.

  "It is war," replied Black Panther. "You will not reach Santa Fe, andyou will not go back to New Orleans. The Comanches will welcome you totheir plains with the arrows from their bows and the bullets from theirrifles."

  "Be it so," said Middleton, continuing his calm, even tone. "We havenot come so far merely to turn back. The Comanche welcome of bullets andarrows may greet us, but we are strong men, and for any welcome that maybe given to us we shall always repay. Is it not so, Mr. Woodfall?"

  Woodfall nodded.

  "Give that answer to your tribe," said Middleton, speaking in firmtones, and looking the chief squarely in the eyes. "We have started toSanta Fe, and there
we go. The Comanche nation has not enough warriorsto turn us back."

  A spark of fire seemed to leap from the chief's eye, but he made noother demonstration.

  "I have given you the third and last warning," he said. "Now I go."

  He raised the shield in a sort of salute, and, without a word, turnedand rode away. The three sat on their horses, looking at him. When hehad gone about two hundred yards he paused a moment, fitted an arrow tohis bow, shot it almost straight up into the air, and then, uttering along fierce whoop, galloped away over the plain.

  The Indian's cry was sinister, ominous of great dangers, and its meaningsank deeply on Phil's heart. A peculiar shiver ran down his backbone,and the little pulses in his temples began to beat. He did not doubtfor a moment that the warning of the Comanche was black with storm. Hewatched the sinister figure becoming smaller and smaller, until itturned into a dark blur, then a dot, and then was seen no more in thevast, gray-green expanse.

  The incident seemed to have sunk deep into the minds of the other two,also, and they rode gravely and in silence back to the train, which wasnow drawn up in one great group on the crest of the swell. The men,keen borderers most of them, had divined the significance of what theysaw, but they crowded around the three for more definite information.Woodfall told them briefly. He knew their temper, but he thought it bestto put the question and to put it fairly.

  "Men," he said, "we are undoubtedly threatened with an attack. TheComanches are numerous, brave, and cunning. I will not conceal from youthose facts. A fight with them will mean loss to us, and, even if we winthat fight, as I am sure we will, they will attack again. Now, if anywant to turn back, let them do so. All who wish to go back, say 'I'."

  He paused. There was a dead silence throughout the train. The cornersof Woodfall's lips curved a little into a slow smile.

  "Those who wish to go on, Comanche or no Comanche, say 'Yes,'" he cried.

  A single "Yes" was thundered out from scores of throats, and many of themore enthusiastic raised their rifles and shook them.

  "I thought so," said Woodfall quietly, and then he added in a loudervoice: "Forward!"

  Fifty whips cracked like so many rifle shots. The wagons creaked andmoved forward again, and by their side rode the armed horsemen. Theydescended the slope, rose to the crest of the next swell, where theComanche horseman had stood, and then passed on, over wave after waveinto the unbroken gray-green expanse of the West. There was nothingbefore them but the plains, with a bunch of buffalo grazing far off tothe right, and a herd of antelope grazing far off to the left. Theominous spell that the Indian had cast seemed to have vanished with himso far as the great majority of the men were concerned. But Phil andhis immediate comrades did not forget.

  "The words of that Indian, as you have delivered them to me, linger inmy mind, young Sir Philip of the Plains," said Bill Breakstone, "but Iam glad he took the trouble to give us a warning. A stitch in time maysave the lives of nine good men.

  "Give me the word That harm you mean, Then my good sword I take, I ween.

  "At least that poem is short and to the point, Sir Philip. And now Ithink me that to-morrow about the noon hour, if we should maintain ourpresent pace, we cross a river known variously to the different Indiantribes, but muddy, deep, and flowing between high banks. The crossingwill be difficult, and I ought to tell Woodfall about it."

  "By all means," said Middleton, "and I can tell you, Breakstone, that Ialready wish we were safely on the other side of that river."

  They camped that night in the open plain. There was a good moonlight,but the watch was doubled, the most experienced frontiersmen beingposted as sentinels. Yet the watchers saw nothing. They continuouslymade wide circles about the camp, but the footprint of neither man norhorse was to be seen. The day dawned, cold and gray with loweringskies, and, before the obscure sun was an hour above the plain, thetrain resumed its march, Woodfall, Middleton, Breakstone, Phil, andArenberg riding in a little group at the head.

  "How far on do you say is this river?" asked Woodfall.

  "We should strike it about noon," replied Breakstone, repeating hisstatement of the day before. "It is narrow and deep, and everywherethat I have seen it the banks are high, but we ought to find somewhere aslope for a crossing."

  "Is it wooded?" asked Middleton.

  "Yes, there are cottonwoods, scrub oaks, bushes, and tall grass alongeither bank."

  "I'm sorry for that," said Woodfall.

  Phil knew perfectly well what they meant, but he kept, silent, althoughhis heart began to throb. The other three also fell silent, and underthe gray, lowering sky the spirits of the train seemed to sink. The menceased to joke with one another, and no songs were sung. Phil heardonly the tread of the horses and the creak of the wagons.

  An hour or two later they saw a dim black line cutting across the plain.

  "The trees along the banks of the river," said Bill Breakstone.

  "And they are still two or three miles away," said Woodfall.

  The leader rode among his men and spoke with them. The train movedforward at the same speed, drawing itself like a great serpent over theplain, but there was a closing up of the ranks. The wagons moved moreclosely together, and every driver had a rifle under his feet. Thehorsemen rode toward the head of the train, held their rifles across thepommels of their saddles, and loosened the pistols in their holsters.Phil was conscious of a deep, suppressed excitement, an intensity ofexpectation, attached to the dark line of trees that now rose steadilyhigher and higher out of the plain.

  An old buffalo hunter in the train now recalled the river, also, and,after studying the lay of the land carefully, said that they would finda ford about two miles north of the point toward which the head of thetrain was directed. The course was changed at once, and they advancedtoward the northwest.

  "Do you think anything is going to happen, Bill?" asked Phil, speakingfor the first time.

  "Do you feel kind of tingly in your blood?" asked Breakstone, notreplying directly.

  "I tingle all over," said Phil frankly.

  "I'm tingling a bit myself," said Breakstone, "and I've spent a goodmany years in the wilderness. Yes, Phil, I think something is going tohappen, and I think you and me and the Cap and Arenberg ought to sticktogether."

  "That is well spoken," said Middleton. "We are chosen comrades, and wemust stand by one another. See how the trees are drawing nearer."

  The black line now stood up level with the earth, and the trees becamedetached from one another. They could also see the thick undergrowthhiding the river, which seemed to flow in a deep gash across the plain.Middleton took from his saddlebags a pair of strong glasses, and, asthey rode on, examined the double line of trees with the minutestscrutiny. Then he lowered the glasses, shaking his head.

  "I can't make out anything," he said. "Nothing moves that I can see.There is no sign of human life."

  "The Comanche iss cunning," said Arenberg. "Harm iss done where harmiss meant, but I for one am willing to meet him."

  The mild German spoke in such a tone of passion that Phil was startledand looked at him. Arenberg's blue eyes shone with a sort of blue fire,and he was unconsciously pressing his horse ahead of the others. It wasevident, even to one as young as Phil, that he was stirred to his utmostdepths. The boy leaned over and whispered to Breakstone:

  "He must have some special cause to hate the Comanches. You know he wasin that massacre at New Braunfels."

  "That's so," said Breakstone,

  "When you feel the savage knife, You remember it all your life."

  "These mild men like Arenberg are terrible when they are stirred up,Phil. 'Still waters run deep,' which sounds to me rather Irish, becauseif they are still they don't run at all. But it's good all the same,and, between you and me, Phil, I'd give a lot if we were on the otherside of this river, which has no name in the geographies, which rises Idon't know where, which empties into I don't know what, and whichbelongs t
o I don't know whom. But, be that as it may, lay on, Macduff,and I won't be the first to cry 'Hold, enough!'"

  The train took another curve to the northward, approaching the ford, ofwhich the old scouts told. The swells dipped down, indicating a pointat which the banks of the river were low, but they could still see thedouble line of trees lining either shore, and the masses of bushes andweeds that extended along the stream. But nothing stirred them. Nowind blew. The boughs of the cottonwoods, live oaks, and willows hunglifeless under the somber sky. There was still no sign of humanpresence or of anything that lived.

  But the men of the train did not relax their caution. They wereapproaching now up a sort of shallow trough containing a dry sandy bed,down which water evidently flowed during the wet season into the river.It, also, for the last half mile before it reached the main stream, hadtrees and bushes on either shore. Middleton suggested that they beat upthis narrow strip of forest, lest they walk straight into an ambush.Woodfall thought the idea good, and twenty men scouted the thickets.They found nothing, and many in the train began to feel incredulous.That Comanche had been a mere boaster. He was probably still gallopingaway over the prairie, putting as much distance as he could betweenhimself and the Santa Fe train. But Middleton yet distrusted. Heseemed now to be in every sense the leader of the train, and he did itso quietly and with such indirection that Woodfall took him to be anassistant, and felt no offense. At his prompting, strong bodies ofskirmishers were thrown forward on either bank of the dry creek bed, andnow, increasing their pace somewhat, they rapidly drew near the river.

  It still seemed to Phil that nothing could happen. It was true that theskies were gray and somber, but there was no suggestion of an active andhostile presence, and now the river was only a hundred yards away. Fromhis horse's back he could see the surface of the stream--narrow, muddy,and apparently deep. But on the hither shore there was a gradual slopeto its waters, and another of the same kind on the farther bank seemedto lead up among the trees.

  "It ain't so deep as it looks," said an old frontiersman. "'Bout fourfeet, I should say. It'll just 'bout hit the bottoms o' our wagonbeds."

  The stream itself was not more than twenty yards wide. One could passit in a few minutes, if nothing was thrown across the way, and Phil nowbegan to feel that the unspoken alarm was false. But just when thefeeling became a conviction and the wagons were not more than twentyyards from the river, he saw something gleaming in the brush on the farshore. It was the dyed feather of an eagle, and it made a blood redspot against the green bushes. Looking closely Phil saw beneath thefeather the light copper face of an Indian, and then he knew that theComanches were there.

  Scarcely a second after he saw the coppery face, a hurricane of arrowswhistled from the covert on the far shore. The short shafts of theComanches filled the air. Mingled with them was the sharp crashing ofrifles, and bullets and arrows whistled together. Then came the longyell of the Comanches, from scores of throats, high pitched, fierce,defiant, like the scream of a savage beast about to leap upon its prey.In spite of all his resolution, Phil felt that strong shiver in everynerve from head to heel. Some of the shafts were buried to the featherin the bodies of the horses and mules, and a terrible tumult arose asthe animals uttered their screaming neigh and fought and kicked in painand terror. Nor did the men escape. One, pierced through the throat bya deadly barb, fell lifeless from his horse. Another was stricken inthe breast, and a dozen were wounded by either arrows or bullets.

  The train was thrown into confusion, and the drivers pulled back ontheir lines. Sure death seemed to hover in front of them. The greatestdanger arose from the wounded and frightened horses, which plunged andstruggled and tried to break from their harness, but the hands on thelines were strong, and gradually they were reduced to order. Thewagons, also, were driven back a little, and then the triumphantComanches sent forth their war whoop again and again. The short shaftsonce more flew in showers, mingled as before with the whistling of thebullets, but most of the missiles, both arrows and bullets, fell short.Now the Comanches appeared thickly among the bushes, chiefly on foot,their horses left at the edge of the timber, and began to make derisivegestures.

  It seemed to Phil that the crossing of the river was impossible in theface of such a fierce and numerous foe, but Middleton and Woodfall hadbeen conferring, and suddenly the Cap, to use his more familiar nameamong the men, whirled off to the south at the head of a hundredhorsemen. He waved his hand to his three partners, and they gallopedwith the band.

  "There must be another crossing, not as good as this, but still acrossing," said Bill Breakstone. "If at first you don't succeed, thentry, try again."

  This flanking movement was hidden from the Comanches on the other shoreby the belt of timber on the side of the train, and the horsemengalloped along rapidly in search of a declivity. Phil's heart wasthumping, and specks floated before his eyes, but he was well among theforemost, and he rode with them, stride for stride. Behind him he heardthe crackle of rifle shots, the shouts of the Comanches, and the defiantreplies of the white men.

  "Keep a good hold on your rifle, Phil!" shouted Bill Breakstone in hisear. "If the gods whisper truly to me, we will be in the water soon,and, by my faith, you'll need it."

  The Captain uttered a shout of joy. They had come to a place where thebank sloped down to the river and the opposite shore was capable ofascent by horses.

  "Into the river, men, into the river!" he shouted. "The horses may haveto swim, but we can cross it! We must cross it before the main Indianforce comes up!"

  The whole troop galloped into the water. Middleton shouted to them tokeep their rifles dry, and every man held his above his head or on hisshoulder. The muddy water splashed in Phil's face, but he kept by theside of Breakstone, and in a few moments both their horses wereswimming.

  "Let the horse have his head, Phil," said Breakstone. "He'll make forthe nearest land, and you can use both your hands for the work that wenow have to do."

  Phil dropped the rein, and the horse swam steadily. They were now aboutthe middle of the stream, which was wider here than at the ford. Two orthree brown faces suddenly appeared in the brash on the bank in front ofthem, and the savage cry arose. Comanche skirmishers had discovered theflank movement, but the white troop was already more than half wayacross. Bullets were fired at the swimming men and horses. Some struckin flesh, but others dashed up jets of yellow foam.

  "On! On!" cried Middleton. "We must gain the bank!"

  "On! On!" cried Phil, borne on by excitement. "We must gain the bank!"

  He was carried away so much by the fire and movement of the moment thathe did not feel fear. His blood was tingling in every vein. Myriads ofred specks danced before him. The yellow water splashed all about him,but he did not notice it. An arrow whizzed by his cheek, and twobullets struck near, but he continued to urge his horse, which, gallantanimal, was already doing his best. Some of the white men, even fromthe unsteady position of a swimming horse's back, had begun to fire atthe Indians in the brush. Phil heard Bill Breakstone utter a deep sighof satisfaction as he lowered the muzzle of his rifle.

  "Got one," said Bill. "It's good to be zealous, but that Comanche oughtto have known more than to run square against a rifle bullet."

  The feet of Phil's horse touched earth, and he began to wade.Everything now depended upon an instant or two. If they could gallop upthe declivity before the Comanches could arrive in force they wouldsecure a great advantage. But the Comanches were coming rapidly, andthe fire from their bows and rifles increased. The white men, now thattheir position was steadier, also fired more rapidly. Phil sent abullet at a bronze figure that he saw darting about in the undergrowth,but he could not tell whether or not he had hit.

  "On!" shouted Middleton. "Give them no chance! Rush the slope!"

  They were out of the river now, and in among the bushes and weeds. Butthey did not stop there. Dripping with the yellow water, streakedsometimes with red, they rode s
traight at the Comanches, shouting andfiring with both rifles and pistols. The Indian skirmishers gave way,and, jumping upon their ponies, galloped down the stream to the mainford. The white men uttered a cry of exultation. They were now on thewestern bank, and the flank movement was a complete success.

  "Follow them!" shouted Middleton. "We must press home the attack uponthe main body!"

  Ahead of them the Comanches, bent low on their mustangs, were gallopingover the plain. Behind came the white men, hot with the fire of battleand urging on their horses. Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg rodeknee to knee, the boy between. He was wet from head to foot withsplashed water, but he did not know it. A bullet had touched the tip ofone ear, covering it with blood, but he did not know that, either.There was no cruelty in his nature, but just now it thrilled withbattle. He sought a shot at the flying Comanches, but they were too faraway.

  "Hold your fire,"' said Bill Breakstone. "The battle is not over yet byany means. A job that's half finished isn't finished at all."

  They heard now the shots at the ford above them and a tremendousshouting. Evidently the two forces were firing at each other across thestream, and the wagons did not yet dare the passage. A few momentslater they saw the smoke of the rifles and brown figures darting aboutthe thickets.

  "Now, boys!" shouted Middleton. "All together! A great cheer!"

  A mighty shout was poured forth from three score throats, and Middletonwaved his felt hat about his head. From the eastern bank came ananswering cry, and the signal was complete. Woodfall and the otherswith the train knew that their comrades were across, and now was thetime for them to force the passage. Phil saw the white tops of thewagons shake. Then the wagons themselves rolled slowly forward into thewater, with horsemen in front of them and on the flanks, firing at theIndians on the bank. The Comanches sent a shower of bullets and arrowsupon the advancing line, but in another instant they were compelled toturn and defend themselves. Middleton and his victorious troop werethundering down upon them.

  The attack upon their flank came so swiftly that the Comanches weretaken by surprise. As their own skirmishers fled, the white forcegalloped in upon their heels. Yet these bold warriors, kings of theplains, victors in many a battle over other tribes and Mexicans, foughtwith a courage and tenacity worthy of their race and traditions. Theywere marshaled, too, by a chief who had returned to his own, the greatBlack Panther, and by able assistants.

  Middleton's daring men met a storm of arrows am bullets, but theycharged on, although some saddles were emptied. They were at the edgeof the timber now, the mounted white men poured in a deadly fire. Thesound of the shots became a steady, incessant crackle Puffs of smokearose, and, uniting, formed a canopy of vapor. The odor of gunpowderspread and filled the nostrils of the combatants. Shots, the tramplingof hoofs, the cries of the wounded and dying rung upon the drums oftheir ears.

  It was a terrific medley, seemingly all confusion, but really foughtwith order by skilled leaders. Black Panther had one half of hiswarriors to face the wagons and horsemen in the river and the other halffaced south to beat off Middleton's troop, if it could. He himselfpassed from one to another, encouraging them by every art that he knew,and they were many.

  But it was Middleton's men who gave the deathblow. They struck so hardand so often that it was continually necessary for Black Panther to sendmore of his warriors to the defense of his flank. The firing upon thewagons and horsemen in the river slackened, and they rushed forward.The horsemen gained the bank, and, at the same time, Middleton's mencharged with greater fire than ever. Then the horsemen from the fordrushed up the ascent and joined in the attack. Compressed between thetwo arms of a vise, the Comanches, despite every effort of Black Pantherand his chiefs, gave way. Yet they did not break into any panic.Springing on their horses, they retired slowly, sending back flights ofarrows and bullets, and now and then uttering the defiant war whoop.

  Meanwhile, the last of the wagons emerged from the river, and wasdragged up the ascent. Although the Comanches might yet shout in thedistance, the crossing was won, and everybody in the train felt a mightysense of relief.